Between Brothers
by Absalom2692
Summary: Something has happened to Reese, and Malcolm isn't sure how to handle it. Especially when he finds out who hurt his brother. *Warning: Malcolm/Reese slash, mentions of abuse, some language, etc.*   DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters or locations.
1. Debt

It was probably a testament to Malcolm's intellect, or to his uncanny perceptiveness when it came to family, that he noticed very nearly right away.

Which, considering the odds, must have been some sort of small miracle. It was not uncommon for the Wilkerson boys to show up with all sorts of cuts and bruises, scratches and scars. They were known, by name and reputation, by nearly every nurse and doctor at the local hospital. By the time Francis was shipped off to Marlin Academy, all of the neighbors on the street had stopped casting dirty glares at Hal and Lois when one of the boys showed up in public with a black eye or broken arm; some of the bitterer old ladies on the block even smirked in approval at the sight. _Good_, their judgmental stares said. _The __deviant __probably __had __it __coming._

So it wasn't the nasty cut above Reese's eye, or his bloody lip, or even the limp he was unsuccessfully trying to disguise that got Malcolm's attention. It was all of those things in conjunction with the look in his brother's eyes. Although one would have a tough time trying to make a case that any one of the boys got into significantly more trouble than the others, it would hardly be disputed, considering his inclination towards violence as a solution to conflicts, that Reese was the most likely to come home from school with physical souvenirs of battle. Three or four times a week, it seemed, he would walk through the kitchen with a shiner and smug smile after having beaten some kid to a pulp for stealing a frisbee, or having rode his bike off a homemade ramp into a neighbor's pool, or God knows what else. The point being that the family had long since lost its capacity for squeamishness. Even Lois didn't yell as much as she used to; a broken bone or a cracked skull was acknowledged with an eye roll and a deadpan, "I'll get the keys," rather than an earsplitting tirade of "What were you thinking?" or "How could you be so stupid?"

Apart from the limp, Reese didn't look too poorly off that particular day, so when Malcolm heard the bedroom door open and saw his brother's current condition, his first reaction, not especially cruel considering their typically rivalrous relationship, was to snort in amusement. Reese, staring blankly at the ground, raised his eyes to meet Malcolm's. They held each other's gaze for about five seconds, and Malcolm felt his grin slowly sliding away. Reese didn't look angry, or upset, or weary...or anything really. Just a blank slate. It barely seemed as though he registered Malcolm's presence at all. His eyes flickered briefly in recognition, and that was about it.

"Hey, man," he said softly, gently dropping his backpack to the floor. He turned and left and Malcolm was left staring at an empty doorway. A minute or so later, he heard the shower start.

Malcolm stood up slowly from his desk and started down the hallway. A cold chill came over him suddenly, growing in intensity with every step he took. It wasn't something that could be explained logically, but in his gut he knew that whatever this was, it was serious. He had seen that look in Reese's eyes once before.

Malcolm leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom door, boring holes in it with his eyes, running through plans of action in his mind. A large part of him wanted to just drop it and wait for the parents to come home from work, although he knew Reese would never talk to them, or even ride it out until morning, whereupon his brother would no doubt have had time to construct a mask of cheerfulness, choosing as per usual to process his pain internally (with, perhaps, the additional release of a casual schoolyard brawl). But as desperately as he didn't want to deal with...whatever this was, the voice in the back of Malcolm's brain kept reminding him over and over like a mantra: _You __owe __him_.

It hadn't even happened that long ago, no more than three or four months, right after Malcolm's 15th birthday. The family was trying to pull itself out of debt, so Hal and Lois were overworked and undersexed, and therefore twice as irritable as usual. Lois in particular was in a foul mood having to deal with the additional frustration of Francis, who was in town for the weekend. Dewey was in the middle of an frustratingly juvenile phase where he was certain the entire world revolved around him, and anyone who threatened this perception of reality was treated to earsplitting screeches and noisy tantrums. All of the pressures of academia, domestic tension, and social life had finally caught up with Malcolm and in a moment of impulse, he'd closed himself up in the bathroom with a box-cutter from the garage and sat in the empty bathtub with shaking hands, working up the courage to take that final plunge. It may have been fate, or luck, or simply the fact that the locks didn't work, but before he could make a single incision, Reese had barged in with the intention of finding a few minutes of privacy without having to listen to their mother screaming at the insurance company on the telephone.

Startled, the box-cutter had fallen out of Malcolm's grasp and clattered on the floor. Reese had frozen in the process of opening his mouth, probably to tell his brother to get the hell out, and stared at the weapon on the ground. After a few seconds, he'd looked up to meet Malcolm's eyes, and it was in that moment, in spite of every else going on, that Malcolm realized how badly he'd underestimated his sibling. Any other reaction wouldn't have surprised him; if Reese had seized the box-cutter and yelled at him and demanded to know what the fuck he was thinking, or if he had broken down in tears and begged to know _why, __WHY?_ would Malcolm do something like this. Anything except a blank stare, a glassy-eyed gaze with a just a bit of surprise and...understanding?

"Reese..." Malcolm had started, carefully. "I...I wasn't...I wouldn't actually-"

He was cut off by his brother's strong arms wrapping around him, wordlessly pulling him into a tight hug. They sat there for a full two or three minutes in silence, before Reese spoke, tonelessly, but clearly.

"I need you here. Okay?"

And that was the nail in the coffin. Malcolm had lost it and Reese had held him while he cried, just sitting there in the empty bathtub, sharing in that cathartic release of pain together. When he'd finally calmed down enough to dry his eyes and quiet down, Reese released him and picked up the box-cutter and slid it into his pocket. He'd turned back at the door and gave Malcolm a small, sad smile.

"We'll hang out tonight. I found some money in Mom's wallet, so we can order pizza or something."

And they had; and it was the closest Malcolm had ever felt to his Reese, or to anyone for that matter. Everything about that night surprised Malcolm. The way Reese didn't try to make him talk about what had happened earlier, but at the same time didn't dismiss it and pretend like everything was fine. The way he proved he was capable of interesting conversation when he put his mind to it. They'd stayed up all night talking, and in the morning at the breakfast table, their hands had met, reaching across the table for the box of cereal. And after just a moment's hesitation, Reese's hand had given Malcolm's the slightest of squeezes and then retreated back over to his own side. It was a small gesture, insignificant in appearance, but cosmic in its affirmation of a love and affection the boys had never expressed before. And it meant the world to Malcolm; it was that bond of unspoken understanding between them that kept him sane in the days that followed.

And that was pretty much the end of it. That single moment of weakness was all Malcolm had needed, and the thought never crossed his mind ever again. It wasn't until a week or so later that he remembered the look in Reese's eyes that day in the bathroom and realized that he hadn't been the only one suffering through something. But by that point things had, for the most part, calmed down. Dewey was still behaving like a pain in the ass, but the parents were considerably more cheerful since things were beginning to look up financially. Francis was back in Alaska, and the workload at school was on the decline. The family dynamic was back to its usual comfortably chaotic routine, and with their rivalry basically reestablished, Malcolm couldn't find it in him to question Reese.

But he knew something was off. Up until now, it wouldn't have been apparent to the casual observer, but Malcolm could sense there had been a fundamental change in his brother's personality. Ever since that day. Perhaps even before then. Reese was more reserved, quieter. Oh, he still got into trouble, and his reputation as the school bully was as intact as ever, but it wasn't the same. He just didn't go out of his way to create problems for others anymore, as if it were some incidental pleasure to savor in certain circumstances where the opportunity arose rather than an activity to pursue with the unfaltering determination he was once infamous for. Malcolm actually noticed him doing his homework unprompted several times.

Normally, Malcolm would just chalk all of that up to some elaborate, bound-to-fail con Reese was trying his hand at to trick their mother for some reason or another. But he couldn't shake the look he'd seen in his brother's eyes, that sense of understanding, that deep pain. Whatever Reese was struggling with, Malcolm knew none of them were prepared to deal with it.

And now, the moment had come. The look was back in Reese's eyes and Malcolm was not going to let the opportunity slip him by again. Hal and Lois were out with Francis and Piama, who were in town again for a couple of weeks, and Dewey was spending the night at a friend's house (allegedly), so he and Reese would have time to talk. He needed to know.

After about fifteen minutes, the shower stopped running and Malcolm sighed. Now or ever. He waited another minute or so, and when Reese didn't emerge from the bathroom, he knocked softly on the door.

"Hey...Reese? Is it alright if I come in?"

No answer.

Malcolm knocked again, a little more forcefully. He only waited a few seconds before opening the door. Reese was sitting on the ground next to the shower, head pressed up against his knees, wearing nothing but a towel.

"Reese?..." Malcolm asked cautiously, closing the door and slowly squatting down beside him. "How...how are you doing?" _Great.__Terrific__ice-breaker,__Einstein._Hesitantly, he reached out his hand to place on Reese's shoulder, but stopped instantly when his brother involuntarily recoiled from the touch. "Come on, dude...please talk to me...please?" Still nothing. Malcolm's knees were starting to get sore, so he moved into a sitting position next to Reese and focused on a spot on the wall in front of him, trying to think of the right words to make his brother open up. To make everything better. They sat there in silence for a while, and being in the same room with the same tense atmosphere, Malcolm could no longer help but think of how similar the situation was to his own breakdown. He turned his head back to Reese.

"I owe you, you know," he said softly.

And for whatever reason, that did the trick. Reese finally looked up to meet his eyes, a hint of mild surprise intermingled with an expression of profound despair. Malcolm felt the cold chill return and gritted his teeth, not wanting to reveal how much Reese's reaction disturbed him. He kept a cool, sympathetic gaze, patiently waiting. Reese opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to speak.

"I..." he started, and then, to Malcolm's horror, he burst into tears and buried his face in his hands. Instinctively Malcolm wrapped his arms around his brother, relieved that this time he didn't pull away. It was the second time in their young lives that they had found themselves in this position, the only difference was the reversal of roles. But Malcolm knew in his heart that, painful as it might be, he couldn't return Reese the favor of not asking why. He needed to know what was wrong.

Reese only cried for about five minutes, but they sat like that quietly for about thirty before Malcolm glanced over at the clock and spoke up.

"Hey, I think they'll be home pretty soon." After a few seconds he felt Reese nod. "Why don't you get dressed and...you know, we'll talk...okay?" Reese pulled away, not meeting Malcolm's eyes, but he nodded again. "Good," Malcolm said. "I'll tell Mom and Dad you're sick. Try to take a nap or something."

He was halfway to the door when he heard Reese's voice.

"Malcolm...I think...I think I was..."

Malcolm turned back around with a sinking feeling in his gut. Reese still wasn't meeting his eyes, staring determinedly at a spot on the floor.

"I think...I _know_..." He started breathing heavily and looked up pleadingly. "Please don't make me say it. That I was..."

Malcolm swallowed. "I know, Reese...You don't have to say it."

And he did know. He had all along, more or less. The possibility had even occurred to him before, several months ago when he first seen this new side of his brother. He'd simply repressed the thought, refusing to believe it for convenience sake. But nothing else fit. Reese could take a beating and walk away unfazed. Malcolm had seen him spit up a mouthful of blood with a grin. So it was the only explanation that made sense, the only thing Malcolm could conceive of that would be this emotionally devastating; he felt his stomach turn, realizing that Reese's limp probably had nothing to do with pain in his leg.

They stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Neither of them were prepared to cope with something like this. Reese's chest was rising and falling rapidly; he looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Fighting back the desire to hug him again, Malcolm pushed forward. "It's happened before, hasn't it?" he asked in a voice low enough to be a whisper. "Back when...you know. Back then?"

Reese looked away again. "Yeah," he responded. And looked back. "But just that one time...and this time, too, I guess."

Malcolm bit his lip, deep in thought. "Alright," he said after a minute, "I'm not going to say anything to Mom or Dad yet. But we're not done talking about this, understand? We can't ignore it. We have to figure this out."

Reese nodded, looking somewhat relieved; definitely a little calmer and breathing more evenly. Clutching the towel around his waist, he got up slowly, wincing a bit. "I'm going to get dressed." Malcolm turned and left, shutting the door gently behind him.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a haze. Hal bought the sick story without batting an eye, and Lois seemed satisfied after poking her head in the bedroom and seeing Reese asleep under a pile of blankets. Malcolm ate his dry meatloaf as quickly as possible while Lois and Piama engaged in one of their painfully unsubtle verbal sparring matches and Hal and Francis desperately tried to change the subject. With Dewey absent there was no one keeping Malcolm at the table, so he excused himself with surprisingly little resistance.<p>

"Where do you think you're going?" Lois snapped, her attention diverted for the moment.

Swallowing the urge to respond with sarcasm, Malcolm replied evenly, "Bedroom. I promised Reese we'd hang out tonight."

Lois's glare softened, although she still looked slightly suspicious. "Alright then...I'll be in to check on you boys later. _Don__'__t_ go anywhere, you hear me? _Stay __inside_. None of your shenanigans, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm noticed Francis frowning quizzically at him for a second, but his curiosity morphed back into weariness once Lois and Piama's bickering resumed.

Malcolm backed out of the kitchen slowly and, satisfied that everyone was ignoring him, slipped off to the bedroom. He opened the door and saw Reese sitting awake, waiting for him. His eyes were still a little red, but he seemed to have calmed down. And that haunted look in his eyes was thankfully absent. His expression now was more exhausted than anything else. Malcolm closed the door and walked to the bed. He tapped Reese's shoulder.

"Scoot over."

Reese obliged, and Malcolm sat down next to him, draping an arm over his brother's shoulder and pulling him closer. He wasn't totally surprised when Reese leaned into the embrace, placing his head in the curve of Malcolm's neck, cheek against his chest. But it still felt a little strange, not just because of the unusualness of the situation for them specifically, but because of the intimacy of the gesture. Strange, but somehow nice. In spite of everything. It was moments like this that reminded Malcolm that regardless of how they conducted themselves in everyday interaction, he and Reese were probably closer to each other than anyone else. He knew Reese didn't have many, if any, real friends, and while Stevie could be fun to hang out with now and again, they had never talked about anything that really mattered, or shared deep secrets, or had anything even close to that moment of love and respect when Reese touched his hand across the breakfast table all those months ago.

Malcolm felt a lump growing in his throat, and stroked his brother's hair affectionately. They sat without speaking for about minute or so, then Malcolm took a deep, steadying breath.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Reese shuddered slightly. "Why should we? It's probably not much different of a story than anyone else's."

"Okay, fair enough. But we can't pretend it didn't happen."

"I know, you don't have to keep telling me that!"

Malcolm gripped him tighter. "Sorry. But there's stuff...I have to..." He sighed. "Look, there are questions I have to ask you, and I know it's hard, but please just bear with me for a few minutes."

Reese lifted his head up and stared off at the window. "Alright, fine," he whispered after a second.

"Okay, firstly - and I need you to be honest with me about this - is there any chance that this might happen again? You said it happened once before, so unless it was unrelated to today...which I don't believe for a second, by the way...then I have to assume it's someone you know." Reese's jaw tightened, his focus still directed out the window. "Which is the second question," Malcolm continued carefully. "_Is_ it someone you know?"

_Someone __WE __know?_ being the underlying subtext.

"You don't want to know that," Reese said shakily.

"Reese-"

"No, seriously, I mean it. The relationships in this family are fucked up enough as they are without-" he cut off suddenly, horror materializing in his eyes. He looked at Malcolm fearfully.

Malcolm felt numb. _The __relationships __in __this __family._

_This family._

He stared slack-jawed at his brother, barely registering Reese insisting that he had misspoken, that he hadn't meant it _that__way_, that they should just pretend like he'd never said anything.

"Stop it," he interjected. "You have to tell me. Who was it?"

Reese's eyes narrowed. "I'm not telling you, alright? Just drop it!"

Ah. _That_ was more like Reese. Infuriatingly stubborn even in the most serious situations.

"Dude, this is too important. I mean...it wasn't...Dad? Right?..."

"No! Stop guessing!"

And Reese looked so distraught, he shut his mouth. "Okay, I'm sorry." And he let it go.

Because he didn't need to guess anymore. It didn't take a genius to narrow the possibilities down. And now that he knew their father was uninvolved, the pieces fell into place pretty easily. So while they talked for the next few hours about doctors and therapists and when/if they should talk with the parents, Malcolm was forced to hide the fact that his world was crashing down around him behind a mask of control and calm. And when Lois came in and said goodnight and shut off the lights, leaving the two of them lying together in bed in the dark, Malcolm was wide awake long after Reese had fallen asleep against his body.

He was going to have to play this out carefully. And he would not, could not, fail.

He wasn't going to let his brother down.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that's Chapter One. I promise I'm the type of person who finishes stories, so if at least one person who reads this enjoys it, I'll be sure to finish it just for them.<strong>


	2. Confronting Realities

Had the Wilkersons been a pragmatic family, Francis would have been out on his ass a long time ago. It wasn't as though his prolonged adolescent rebelliousness was impenetrable or confusing to anyone; there was simply an unspoken agreement that every new act of defiance was to be regarded as simply "Francis being Francis." It was just "the way he was," whatever the hell that meant.

Perhaps he had caught on to that unchanging attitude at a young age, if only subconsciously, and the knowledge had stunted his emotional growth; in a system without consequences, what reason did he have to obey? Oh sure, he was punished for his behavior, quite often at that, but there was never the risk of being cut off for good. There was never any finality to Lois and Hal's disciplinary action. When they sent him off to military school, it was just another drastic attempt to mold him into an upstanding citizen, not a means of removing him from their lives. And even when he got himself emancipated, it was clear that he could never do anything to make them give up on him.

Reese was the hopeless one.

Maybe it was the unlucky designation of being the second child, the second failure. Or maybe it was the fact that Francis, seemingly, was starting to mature under the newfound influence of a still fresh marriage. Whatever the reason, Lois and Hal had long since given up on Reese. They still loved him, but they had accepted the fact that he was never going to amount to anything.

Only that wasn't true.

Malcolm had never believed that was true. And now he had the proof.

He'd never denied his brother was a bully; it didn't take a genius to notice that he didn't exactly exude empathy. But Malcolm had always been skeptical of his parents' fears that Reese was a sociopath. That distinction had always seemed a little too strong.

Not that there hadn't been a time or two where the thought had crossed his mind. There was one incident, back when they were in middle school, that stuck out vividly: some kid (Malcolm couldn't even remember his name) with a death wish or an unfortunate lack of foresight had decided it would be funny to trip Reese in the hallway. By the time the teachers heard the commotion and were able to break it up, there was practically a pint of blood splashed against the lockers Reese bashed the boy's head against.

As far as Reese's record went, it wasn't a particularly noteworthy case of violence, other than the unusual amount of blood, but one image had been permanently seared into Malcolm's brain: his brother standing over the unconscious boy with crimson coated fists, his hair blown back, bright red gore smeared across the whole left half of his face. The satisfied smile which had been tugging at the corners of his mouth for the full duration of the beating finally given way to a white-toothed grin.

But stronger still were the memories of those flashes of humanity, the brief glimpses behind the veil when Reese let his defenses down.

He was a vicious kid, to be sure, but one whose aggression was born from self-loathing and doubt, not sadism or affectlessness. And as clichéd as it sounded, Malcolm knew that all Reese really wanted was to be loved unconditionally without fear of rejection and disappointment. And the greater his perception of his brother expanded, the more Malcolm believed in his own ability to offer that love Reese so desperately craved. And the more time passed, the stronger his feelings became.

Francis was a different matter.

There would probably always be a part of Malcolm that believed in the near-mythological construct of his oldest brother he had developed over time. All those years of viewing idolizing Francis had taken their toll, and arriving at the conclusion that he was never going to learn from his mistakes was a slow, painful process. Learning the darker nature of his personal hero wasn't easy.

And yet, as Malcolm sat alone at the kitchen table, staring fixedly at the back door and drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair, he couldn't find it in him to feel too surprised that he was going to have this conversation; horrified and disgusted, but not shocked. Francis had pulled a lot of heinous shit over the years, and while most of it was directly tied into his creepily Oedipal feud with Lois, there had always been the odd act of senseless cruelty that transcended all the others; moments where his clueless self-centeredness and disregard for others' feelings peaked in the most extraordinary ways. Nothing as horrible and baffling as this, but still...

Malcolm's train of thought was interrupted as Francis opened the door holding a bag of groceries. He paused halfway through the living room when he saw Malcolm.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he asked, frowning slightly. Don't you have school?"

Malcolm stopped tapping the chair and gripped it tightly. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to steady himself. Francis's frown deepened and he cautiously set the groceries down on the counter.

"Malcolm?...Everything okay, buddy?"

Malcolm took a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes, raising his head to look at his brother directly.

"No it's not." He gestured towards the empty chair across the table. "Could you sit down for a minute? We need to talk about something. Alone...before anyone else gets home."

Francis shrugged, grabbing the chair. "Sure, what's up?"

Malcolm opened his mouth and froze. He closed his eyes again, feeling his chest constrict. He took another breath.

"Francis...Reese told me."

Francis's jaw clenched, the color draining out of his face. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly for a few seconds.

"I...I don't...what do you me-"

Malcolm held up his hand. "Please don't do that. That's only going to make this worse than it already is."

They sat there awkwardly, not looking at each other, Francis's foot tapping nervously on the ground. He cleared his throat.

"So..." he whispered. "What...what are you..."

Malcolm shook his head. "Nothing. Things are finally getting stable around here. Stable for us, anyway. Mom and Dad can't take something like this. Neither can Dewey. We're going to have to deal with this between the two of us." Steadying himself, he finally looked up. "Obviously you can't be around us anymore." Francis opened his mouth and Malcolm held up his hand again. "Shut up. Don't say anything."

He took another deep breath. "You lost that right when you raped our brother."

Francis visibly cringed, squirming in his chair. Saying the words out loud made Malcolm want to vomit for a second, but then it felt strangely relieving, like a weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

"Now...I don't want you to tell me why you did it, so you can relax as far as that goes. I don't want to hear it, not from you at least. Yesterday I thought I did, but today, all I know is that I don't want to listen to you try to explain why the hell you would...look, all I know is, it happened, and you did it, and now you have to pay." He slid a notebook across to Francis. "Reese and I are going to tell Mom and Dad, but we won't say that it was you. He's going to say it was a stranger. I made this calendar for you charting out every time you are allowed to interact with our family: Christmas, Thanksgiving, _not_ birthdays, and a couple of times in the summer so Mom and Dad don't get wise. You are not allowed to be alone with Reese ever again. Or Dewey."

Francis finally looked Malcolm in the eye, shocked. "Dewey? I would never-"

He cut off, cowering away from the fury radiating from his younger brother.

"You would never? You would never do something so horrible to _Dewey_, just your _other_ brother. I fucking get now, thanks a lot for clearing that up." He stood up abruptly. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Francis? Do you even realize what a huge favor I'm doing you by not telling our parents what you've done? By not calling the _cops_ on you?"

Francis swallowed hard, his eyes tearing up. "Malcolm, you don't understand. I'm sick, okay? I know I have a problem...a lot of problems, but that doesn't mean-"

"You're right, you are sick. And I don't understand. But I don't want to understand. Not this." Malcolm pushed his chair back and walked away, looking back over his shoulder at the door. "I'm going to try and make it to my last two classes, but I want you out of here by tonight. I don't care what you have to tell Mom, but you'd better make up something. We're going to try and work with this system, and when Reese is an adult, living on his own, maybe you can see him then. If he wants to." He turned back around to face Francis fully, face stone cold. "But if you ever...if I ever even suspect that...next time, I'm going all the way with this thing. Considered yourself warned."

And then he was gone, leaving Francis alone in an empty house with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Malcolm hurried home after school let out and found Reese doing pull-ups in the garage in his wife-beater and swim trunks. He broke into a wide smile upon spotting Malcolm and dropped down from the bar.<p>

"Dude, come here! I had the most genius idea ever! You're never going to guess what!"

Malcolm gestured at the bar. "Uh...Reese...do you think you should be doing that right now? I mean...doesn't it hurt?"

Reese waved a dismissive hand. "No pain, no gain. Anyway, my plan: if we can find a working microwave big enough to fit around a swan-"

"Reese...what are you doing?" Malcolm asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Reese's smile faltered a bit, the corner of his mouth twitching. "What do you mean?" he asked through clenched teeth, his voice somehow outwardly cheerful and threatening at the same time.

"What do I...what...Reese, we have to talk about this."

Reese dropped the smile altogether, his face a mask of polite annoyance, eyes glittering dangerously. "We did. Last night. Remember?"

Any other time, if Malcolm had been confronted with that tone of voice, he would have backed down, but today he stood his ground. "Yeah, I do, but we need to talk about it some more. Look, I'm really sorry, but we can't just pretend this didn't happen-"

"That's not what I'm doing, okay!" Reese walked over and leaned against the garage wall, sliding down to a sitting position. After an awkwardly quiet moment, Malcolm joined him. Reese twiddled his thumbs distractedly, looking at the ground. And sighed. "If you don't want to do the microwave thing you could have just said so."

Malcolm snorted. "Do you really think that's what this is about?"

Reese shook his head sullenly. "No...I just...I don't know. I just don't want to talk about this all the time." He breathing hitched, a nauseous expression surfacing. "I know you just found out, but I've had to think about it for months. You know I hate thinking! And this is really weird and confusing...and stuff...you know?"

Malcolm sighed, reaching over and grabbing a bucket. "Here, take this in case you need it." Reese took it with a small smile of gratitude. "Look, I know this is hard, and believe me, I'm confused, too. And that's what we need to discuss, actually. But after we're done, I promise I will never make you talk about this with me ever again. Unless you want to."

Reese frowned. "Alright, I guess. What is it?"

"Now don't get mad...but I figured it out." Reese stared blankly. "...Who it was."

Reese's expression darkened. "Oh...yeah. I kind of guessed that when I saw his car was gone."

"After Dad, I didn't really have many candidates to narrow it down to." Reese nodded, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Trust me, I don't want to go down this road any more than you do, but we don't really have a choice."

Reese shrugged. "Okay, so you know. So what?"

"So what? This...it...this is Francis! That's what. I don't want to sound cruel, and I don't feel like you really owe me anything, but still...I have to understand this. Or at least get some sense of how this could have happened. Or why. Or...I don't...something. And I want to hear it from you, not him."

There was a long pause, and then, "I don't really know."

Malcolm felt his heart ache; Reese sounded so small, more vulnerable than ever before.

"He was drunk," Reese continued quietly. "Both times. I don't know why he did it." He swallowed. "Maybe he was upset about something else. I don't know, I don't understand. I don't understand any of it." He looked up at Malcolm with watery eyes. "I'm sorry I can't help you figure it out. I can't figure it out either."

Malcolm shook his head, placing his hand on Reese's knee. "Never mind that. Forget it."

They sat listening to the birds outside for a few minutes before Reese spoke again.

"Thanks, Malcolm. For everything. I'm glad...I'm glad you care."

He looked up to meet Reese's gaze. "Of course I care. I love you, Reese. You know that, right?"

And suddenly everything changed. Malcolm could sense the shift in tone immediately; the entire atmosphere had erupted into something else. Malcolm noticed that their faces were only a foot or two apart. Seemingly against his will, his eyes flickered down to rove across Reese's body: the muscles in his arms, the vein in his neck, the bead of sweat from his workout trailing down to his chest. The air seemed thicker than before. When Malcolm's brain kicked back into gear and he forced his eyes back up to his brother's face, he saw Reese fixated on his lip, his pupils dilated. Malcolm started breathing heavily. His body understood what was happening even though his mind was denying it. Reese's tongue flickered out to lick his lower lip and Malcolm felt his face get hot.

They stared into each other's eyes. Malcolm unthinkingly leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against his brother's in a chaste kiss.

_Oh __my __fucking __God._Malcolm's brain was in panic mode. _This __is __not __happening._

He felt a hysterical giggle rising up inside of him and had to force it down. Apart from the fact that this was already fucked up for too many reasons to count, this was just about the worst thing to do to Reese considering the circumstances.

And then Reese deepened the kiss, sticking his tongue in Malcolm's mouth.

_Well, there goes any chance of explaining this away as brotherly affection...oh, fuck it all._

Malcolm responded to the kiss, snaking his arms around Reese's back and clenching his fists in his hair. Reese pulled Malcolm into a tight embrace, hands roaming his back.

The kiss lasted all of five minutes before the two boys broke apart, and looked at each other, mouths agape.

"Shit..." Malcolm muttered.

"Please don't freak out about this," Reese said, blushing furiously. "Because then I'll freak out. And then Mom will be able to tell that something's wrong, and she'll figure it out, and then we'll be grounded forever."

Malcolm stared at him, dumbfounded. "_That_ is your first thought? That we will be _grounded_ if Mom finds out?"

Reese scowled. "Hey, I'm just being practical about this thing. Remember that time she caught me making out with that girl at Denny's last Thanksgiving? I figure the punishment for this would be at least that bad, don't you?"

"Shut up for a second and let me think!" Malcolm buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Oh, God...what is wrong with me?..." Reese punched him in the shoulder. "Gah-...Ow! What the hell was that for?"

Reese shook his finger disapprovingly. "I told you not to freak out! We need to figure this out together, and you're the smart one, so I need you to calm the fuck down. Got it?"

Malcolm burst into hysterical laughter at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.

"Reese! We just kissed! Each other! We kissed each other! Like, making out kissing, not family-reunion-haven't-seen-you-in-a-while kissing!"

Reese shrugged. "I guess you have the hots for me."

"What!" Malcolm stood up and started pacing around the garage. "Are you kidding me? You...we...you kissed me back!"

"Yes, but you leaned in first."

"Reese!"

"Relax, dude. I enjoyed it, too," he said looking off into space thoughtfully. "I guess we're all gay for each other and stuff." He glanced back at Malcolm with a smirk, and Malcolm felt his stomach do a backflip. "Weird timing, huh?"

_Oh my God, why am I turned on right now?_

Feeling numb, Malcolm sat down again, on the opposite side facing Reese. He shrugged helplessly. "Okay, so...what now?"

"Don't ask me. Like I said, you're the smart one."

"Well, I guess...do you...want this to...I don't know. Do you want this, period? Whatever this is?"

Reese frowned at the ground, apparently taking the question seriously. "I think so. Yeah. I do. Sure, it's weird and awkward and if anyone finds out, we are really going to get in trouble, but I think it makes sense. Sort of. I mean, I know I love you as a brother. And I've never felt closer to anyone else. And I got hard while we were making out. So I guess, yeah. I want this." He looked up at Malcolm uncertainly. "Do...you want this?"

Malcolm put his hands behind his head, sighing deeply. "As much as I know this is going to end badly, yes. I do. But-" he added, seeing Reese's bright grin, "we're going to take it slow. Meaning no...meaning we're not doing anything we'll seriously regret until you're..." He paused, thinking through his wording carefully. "I just want to make sure we're not confused because of...the other stuff."

Reese thought for a moment, then nodded. "I guess that makes sense. I can go slow." His expression suddenly morphed back into a scowl and he pointed a finger at Malcolm. "But you need to put out by the end of the month, or I'm going to lose my patience."

Malcolm held up his hands defensively. "Okay, okay...I think that will probably work."

He sat in silence, thinking, then Reese tossed a basketball at him.

"Wanna play?"

He smiled. "Sure."

It was a strange feeling. Their entire world had been turned on its axis several times in the past two days, and nothing would ever be the same. Yet in those precious hours before Hal and Lois got home from work, they were able to just exist comfortably, being regular kids. Malcolm's knee-jerk reaction was to assume that this was just the calm before the inevitable storm, but seeing his brother so happy just 24 hours after cradling him on the bathroom floor, he couldn't help but hope that maybe, just this once, things might work out for the best.

Perhaps.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: End of Chapter 2. More to come. I can guarantee at least one chapter a week until it's finished, maybe even more frequently than that. Depends on how much free time I have.<strong>


	3. New Territory

After some heated debate, it was decided that Malcolm would be the one to talk to Hal and Lois, since Reese was likely to let slip about Francis, or worse, about what had transpired last afternoon in the garage. After a few hours of preparation, making sure that their stories matched up, and a stern reminder to "not make me look like a pussy," Reese snuck off to the park, leaving Malcolm to break the news.

It didn't go over particularly well. Not that Malcolm had expected it to.

They weren't even sure what he was trying to tell them at the outset.

"What are you talking about, Malcolm?" Lois asked suspiciously, her arms folded, eyebrows narrowed distrustingly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said...Reese was...attacked."

Lois raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Hal who rolled his eyes over his coffee mug. She turned back, taking a deep breath, obviously trying to stay calm. "Malcolm, you called your father and me to come home from work early because of an emergency, and we're obliging you, but get to the point. What did he do exactly? He's not suspended, is he?"

Malcolm groaned internally. "No, that's not...no, Mom. This wasn't a school thing. And he didn't do anything, okay? And I didn't say you had to come home early, just that you needed to make time to talk about something important." He paused. "Someone outside of school attacked Reese." Lois and Hal stared at him expectantly. Their faces read _And? _"...uh...and..." Malcolm stammered. "...and he got hurt...he was hurt pretty badly..."

Hal set down his mug, and Lois sat down.

_Well, at least they're paying attention now._

"Alright, Malcolm..." Lois drummed her fingernails on the table, slightly less suspicious but still wary. "So you say this wasn't his fault. That he did nothing...So what you're telling us is that some complete stranger beat up your brother on the street after school for no reason at all? Is that it?"

_Jesus. This is not starting out well..._

Malcolm hesitated. "It was...a...it was a sexual thing." He paused, trying to gauge their reaction.

After a second's confusion, the lights clicked on. Lois's suspicion vanished, replaced by a cold, blank stare.

Hal just looked horrified. "Oh my God..." he muttered, placing a hand over his mouth.

Lois's fingers were digging into the table. "Who was it?" she whispered dangerously. "Who did this?"

Malcolm bit his lip. This was the tricky part. Lois could sniff out a lie like a bloodhound, and he couldn't afford to mess this up. Not unless he wanted to drag Francis into the middle of this. Which would just make everything blow up in the worst possible way. It was better for everyone to just focus on making Reese better instead of going on a warpath of vengeance.

"It was just a stranger, Mom. No one we know." He paused. Time for one more lie. "It happened two days ago. Just the one time. He took the long way walking home, and some guy pulled him into an alley. And...you know..."

"Oh my God..." Hal repeated, putting his head down on the table.

Lois stood and started pacing, running a hand through her hair. "Where is Reese?" she asked. "I want to see him right now."

Malcolm stood up and moved toward her cautiously. "He's out, waiting for us to finish up here." He grabbed onto to her arm as she reached for the car keys on the counter. "But," he said gently, petting her arm in an attempt to calm her, "He wanted me to be the one to talk to you. He doesn't feel like discussing it just yet."

"Oh my God..."

Lois smacked her hand on the counter, yanking away from Malcolm's grasp. "Oh for crying out loud, Hal! Stop saying that!" Her voice contained all of the energy and rage as any one of her pre-punishment tirades, but her eyes were tearing up, and Malcolm could see her quavering with helplessness. She looked sick. "I need to see him right now."

Malcolm shook his head. "Not yet. I promised him I wouldn't let you go after him until you'd calmed down enough to drive carefully."

Hal looked up. Unlike Lois, he was making no attempt to hide his tears. "Why didn't he come to us when this happened?" he croaked. "He wouldn't...he doesn't...does he not trust us?"

Malcolm swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He hated seeing his father cry. "No, Dad, it's not that at all. He's just...uncomfortable. He felt too embarrassed to have to tell you himself." He sighed. "You can understand that, right? I mean...it's Reese. He only talked to me because I was there when he was in an emotional state. We're actually lucky when you think about it." Lois shot him a death glare. "What I mean," he added hastily, "is that some kids don't tell their parents for years. Or at all, even. So there's that."

* * *

><p>So all in all, it was about as successful as Malcolm had predicted: not especially, but not a complete disaster either. He managed to keep them at bay, fielding off various questions until Hal stopped weeping and Lois's nostrils stopped flaring, and then revealed Reese's location, whereupon they leapt up from the table and were backing out of the driveway in roughly 30 seconds.<p>

Lois's yelling, Hal's tears, and their collective hysteria were all things Malcolm was prepared to deal with. He'd had years of practice. What he wasn't ready for was the look on Dewey's face when he opened the bedroom door.

_Fuck._

It was the one part of his and Reese's plan they hadn't accounted for. Malcolm internally kicked himself for forgetting about his younger brother's tendency to eavesdrop at the most inconvenient times.

Dewey was lying on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, sniffling a little bit.

Malcolm sighed as he sat down beside him.

"So...how much of that did you hear?"

Dewey rolled over, turning his face away. "Enough," he replied.

Malcolm lay down as well, respectfully not watching while Dewey wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry you found out that way," he started delicately. No response. "You know we would have told you, too. Eventually. Probably." Dewey rolled over to stare daggers at him. "Okay, probably not, but can you blame him? I mean, come on, this is a really personal situation."

Dewey sniffed, still glaring. "I know, I know. But we're family. I would have told you if something like this had happened to me."

Malcolm shot him a disbelieving expression. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I would have. Why is that so hard to believe?"

Malcolm shrugged, looking back at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I don't know. I guess just because I would probably have kept it to myself. If it was me, I mean." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to block out images of Reese and Francis that had periodically sprung, unbidden, into his mind over the past two days. "Give Reese a little credit. He's been dealing with this for sever-" He cut off, the blood running cold. "F-f-for several days now. A couple days, I mean. My point is, he's going through a lot right now and if he thinks about his own feelings ahead of yours or Mom's or Dad's, then I think he can be forgiven."

_Shit, that was too close. No more slips like that._

But Dewey didn't seem to notice. He turned over and wrapped his arms around Malcolm's waist, burying his face into his t-shirt.

And nothing needed to be said. Malcolm returned the hug, comforting his little brother while he cried silently.

* * *

><p>They had fallen asleep by the time Reese got back. He tip-toed over to the bed where Malcolm and Dewey were still sprawled out, snoring loudly. He shook Malcolm awake from a dream and mouthed "<em>Let<em>_'__s __go __talk_," and jerked his head toward the window.

Malcolm nodded sleepily and followed him outside to the garage. Even through his weary haze, he couldn't help but feel his heart jump into his throat as they sat back in the same space they had shared yesterday. The room was dark this time, but a sliver of light from the window was shining across the top half of Reese's face. Across his wide, beautiful eyes. Malcolm felt himself getting hot and bothered.

_Not now. Fight it..._

"Uh...so..." he said, swallowing back his lust. "So how'd it go with Mom and Dad?"

Reese shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Dad just cried the whole time and kept saying he loved me and shit. And Mom yelled at me for not telling her myself. And for 'taking the long way home.' Nice one, by the way."

The corners of Malcolm's mouth twitched upward in a smile. "Thanks. Sorry I couldn't placate her. I was barely able to keep her from running out the door the instant she figured it out."

Another shrug. "Yeah, it's cool. I don't think she's too mad, really. She hugged me for like twenty minutes after she stopped yelling. Probably just needed to get it out of her system. After all, she didn't ground me or anything like that."

"Sounds about right."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes listening to the crickets chirping outside, enjoying each other's closeness, both in proximity and in feeling.

Malcolm turned to look at Reese, who was already staring at him, a hungry expression on his face. "So..." he said, surprising himself with the huskiness of his voice, "...do you want to talk some more, or do you want to go to bed, or...what?"

He could see the white flash of Reese's teeth as he grinned in the shadows. "Hmm...I think 'what' sounds like the best choice. If you're game?" He reached out tentatively, massaging Malcolm's neck with one hand, and pulling him closer with the other.

"Y-y-yeah," Malcolm stuttered, momentary suaveness dissolved in the sudden overwhelming need to touch Reese's body. He allowed himself to be pulled into a kiss (_Our __second __kiss; __not __that __anyone__'__s __counting_) and snaked his hands up the back of Reese's shirt.

They sat like that for a while, making out with unrestrained passion, hands grasping at each other's backs, eventually stripping off each other's clothes down to their boxers (and socks, which Malcolm couldn't quite kick off and didn't have the energy to really care). It took a few failed attempts at pulling his brother forward for Malcolm to realize, with a jolt of surprise, that Reese wanted _him_ to be the dominant one. Forcing his mind not to follow through on the implications of that, and choosing instead to attribute Reese's apparently preferred dynamic to something other than Francis, Malcolm obliged, pushing Reese onto his back and straddling him awkwardly.

Both panting, the two boys stared into each other's eyes; Malcolm looking down nervously, desperate to please, and Reese looking up with a broad smile, eyes full of adoration. Malcolm had never seen that expression on his brother's face before, and it made him feel weak in the knees.

"Dude..." he said, absentmindedly stroking Reese's cheek with his thumb, "...this is beyond weird." Reese's smile faltered just a little. "But good," Malcolm added. "It feels good, too."

Reese's eyes lit up again. "Yeah?" he asked breathlessly, hands toying with the waistband of Malcolm's underwear.

"Yeah, it does," Malcolm replied, starting to move his hips rhythmically against Reese's, grinning cockily. Reese let out a moan, which Malcolm stifled with his hand. "Shh...we can't wake anyone up, remember?" Reese nodded, eyes dark with need and excitement.

Malcolm removed his hand and Reese whispered, "I bet I can make it feel even better."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah." His eyes gleamed with a familiar competitive spark. "I bet I can make you feel better than you can make me feel."

Malcolm stared disbelievingly at him. "Dude...are you being serious right now?"

Reese's smile widened, his hands massaging Malcolm's lower back. "Are we on?"

_Oh, he wants to play this way? Fine._

Malcolm leaned down and licked a trail up Reese's neck to his ear, provoking a small whimper. He whispered softly, "Oh, we're on."

Reese reached into the waistband of Malcolm's boxers and yanked them down roughly. "Good. Get ready to lose, sucker," he whispered back, slipping off his own underwear.

Even in the heat of the moment, Malcolm couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Here they were, taking an enormous, irreversible step into new territory, doing the one thing that, considering the circumstances, should have sent Reese flying into a panic and destroyed their relationship forever. But instead, in the middle of this newfound facet of their sexual identities, they were behaving...like they always did. Like brothers. And somehow, while he was painfully aware of that fact as he trailed kisses down Reese's chest and stomach, Malcolm felt more amused by the revelation than grossed out or disturbed. It was still weird, but it didn't seem as unnatural as he had expected.

They were a perfect match, really. Neither of them had ever succeeded much in opening up to people, opting instead to hide their vulnerability behind masks: violence and intelligence. They both desperately wanted to be accepted, but didn't believe it was worth it to let their guards down for anyone. Except each other. They spent practically all of their free time together, other than those few times during the week when Malcolm hung out with Stevie and Reese dragged Dewey to assist in various pranks.

They were two sides of the same coin, bringing out the best and the worst in each other.

Reese grabbed Malcolm's hair pulling him roughly back up into another kiss. Their naked limbs smacked against the solid floor as they rubbed increasingly faster against one another.

Malcolm pulled away for a breath. "Do you want to lay something down? Like a blanket? Or something?"

Reese shook his head distractedly. "No, no, this is good. Don't stop now."

It was Malcolm's turn to moan as Reese latched onto his neck and bit down playfully, sucking and licking with vigor.

"Careful, or you'll give me a hickey."

Reese chuckled, pleased with himself. "That's the plan."

"Reese!"

"Alright, alright...I'll just have to try something else then," he said with a wicked smile, and started moving down Malcolm's body.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Malcolm asked, panicking.

"Lie down," Reese responded, moving further and further down.

And down.

And down.

And...

Malcolm saw white, and the next thing he knew he was breathing like he'd just run a marathon with Reese lying next to him, breathing just as hard and wiping his mouth.

"Oh my God..." Malcolm said.

"Told you I could make you feel better. I win," Reese panted, smirking smugly.

Malcolm resisted the urge to retort and just laughed shakily. "Yeah, okay. You win." He looked down at himself and then over at Reese. "There's no...there's no mess..."

"Damn right there's not."

Malcolm put a hand on his forehead, wiping the sweat away. "Oh my God..." And for whatever reason, in that moment, he was reminded of Hal's exclamation earlier in the kitchen, and he felt a little paranoid. He turned to look at his brother directly. "Hey...are you sure you're okay with this?"

Reese raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You're not convinced. What the hell do I have to do?"

"No, no, I mean...are you sure you're okay to do this..._now_. Like, I mean, you don't feel pressured...you didn't feel like you had to do that because...you know?"

Reese's expression softened; took on that most un-Reese-like loving quality that Malcolm was still trying to get used to. He reached over and stroked Malcolm's face. "No, it's not about that. I promise." He stretched his feet out, popping the toes. "I'm going to see a shrink on Thursday," he added. "Mom said that was the only way I didn't have to talk to her through everything. Probably a good idea, since I think I'd let something slip if I had to tell her about it." Malcolm nodded in agreement, taking ahold of his brother's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

They lay there in the afterglow, steadying their breathing and staring into each other's eyes until the sappiness and nauseating romanticism of the moment caught up to them, and they snuck around to side of the house, opting to use the hose instead of running the risk of waking anyone up with the shower. They washed the sweat off of each other and returned to the garage for their clothes.

And then, on the way back inside, Reese reached out and stopped Malcolm, looking at him quizzically.

"What about you?" he asked.

Malcolm frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Reese trailed off, looking somewhat uncomfortable. He shifted back and forth on his feet, putting his hands in his pockets. "I mean about...earlier. Back when you were going through your stuff. How are you doing with...all that?"

"Oh." Malcolm was surprised. They had never talked about his suicide attempt since that day, all those months ago. And even then, they hadn't really talked about it. There hadn't really been a need. Nonverbal communication had always come more naturally to them; silly as it was, somehow saying horrible things out loud made them seem all the more real. That was why Reese had never actually mentioned the word "suicide." And it was why Malcolm would bring up the word "rape."

He stopped himself mid-shrug, resisting the temptation to give a dismissive "It's all good" kind of answer. Instead he looked down at the grass and pondered the question.

"Well," he finally said, after a few minutes had gone by, "Pretty good, I guess. I haven't been that bad since...then. And I've definitely never considered trying it again." He glanced up at Reese, who looked immensely relieved.

"Well...that's great. I'm glad."

"Yeah. Things are still tough sometimes, but I don't feel too overwhelmed anymore. I feel like I can handle my life now, even when things get really hard." He paused. "And a lot of that is thanks to you."

Reese looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then frowned. "Don't get all mushy on me, or I'll kick the crap out of you."

Malcolm snorted and punched him in the shoulder. "Whatever, dude."

They stood awkwardly in the cool night breeze, smiling at each other.

"Oh," Malcolm said, sighing heavily. "I forgot to mention...Dewey knows. About your thing, I mean."

Reese's smile vanished, replaced by distraught. "Aww...seriously? What the fuck?"

"I know, I'm sorry. It was an accident. He was listening in while I was talking to Mom and Dad."

Reese groaned. "Shit, shit, shit..."

"Well...on the bright side, he doesn't know any more than they do. Meaning, he doesn't know...who it was."

Reese shivered slightly, looking away. Malcolm fidgeted uncomfortably, rocking back and forth on his feet. After a bit Reese whispered, "You know it's not over."

Malcolm looked up in alarm. "Wait...what? What do you mean, Reese?"

"I mean, you know we are going to have to deal with this later, right?" Malcolm's brow creased in confusion. "He isn't going to just not talk to us ever again. Even if it's not for a long time, eventually he's going to want to see us again. And then we're gong to have to deal with it."

Malcolm nodded wearily. "Yeah, I know."

They let it all sink in for a few minutes, standing out in the night air, surrounded by the noises of the wildlife. A frog croaked off in the distance somewhere.

"Come on," Reese said, gesturing towards the house. "Let's go to bed."

And somehow, either through sheer fortune or exhaustion from the events of the day, Malcolm managed to fall into deep slumber within moments of placing his head on his pillow.

And he didn't dream.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There's Chapter 3. I hope you're enjoying it so far. It's been fun to write.<strong>


	4. Reconstruction

Once the changed rhythms of the Wilkersons' domestic life had been somewhat firmly established, it was relatively easy to fall into the new routine. Reconstruction was well in order. Three weeks after that night in the kitchen, Hal still got a little teary-eyed sometimes and tried to hug Reese whenever he got the chance. After lengthy discussion, Lois had grudgingly admitted that it was imprudent to adjust her schedule just to drive the boys to and from school, but she demanded that they walk together and stay in plain sight.

It only took a couple of days for Dewey to figure out that Reese knew he knew, and promptly broke the cycle of awkwardly exchanging quick glances across the breakfast table, opting instead for the Hal-method of comfort: surprise hug attacks, complete with emotional sniffling. Which normally would have pissed Reese off, but as Malcolm reminded him, Dewey was just trying to be supportive, so he allowed it.

After confirming with the local clinic that Reese had not contracted any diseases, Lois set up an appointment with psychiatrist ("No excuses, mister! If you aren't going to talk to your father or me, then you're seeing a professional.") and insisted on personally driving him there twice a week.

"It's not so bad," Reese told Malcolm with a shrug after the first meeting. "He doesn't make me talk about anything specific, just..." He crinkled his nose in distaste. "...feelings and shit."

As for Malcolm and Reese's...whatever it was they had, after that night in the garage, Malcolm was finding it increasingly difficult to stick to their plan to take it slow; perhaps due in part to the unfortunate fact that while Reese was under near constant observation by either Lois or Hal (his insistence that he didn't feel suicidal had fallen on deaf ears), they were severely limited in terms of privacy. All in all, they'd had only three or four quick trysts in the past several weeks: a couple in the hall closet, one in the music room at school during lunch, and another in the restroom of the local mattress store. All of which were over in a flash, painfully unromantic, and involved french kissing and wild groping more than anything else. Malcolm was convinced that his need to orgasm was beginning to drive him insane.

The only other chance they had in that period of virtually uninterrupted surveillance, when Lois was working the graveyard shift and Hal was watching a late-night movie with Dewey in the den, they chose instead to lie awake in Reese's bed talking freely in a way they couldn't elsewhere.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," Malcolm whispered in the darkness, running his fingertips playfully back and forth over his brother's arm, "...this thing we have going...are you...well...are these feelings something you've been holding back for a while, or did they just develop recently?"

Reese frowned thoughtfully, rubbing circles on Malcolm's back. "I'm not totally sure. I mean, I've always loved you, or whatever. I know we don't talk about that kind of stuff, and we fight a lot, but...I guess I just always felt like that's the sort of stuff brothers do. You know what I mean?" Malcolm nodded, listening intently. "I can't really think of any specific time that was like...like an 'aha' moment, where I realized that I wanted you the way I wanted hot girl at school." His frowned deepened, pondering his words. "And...even now, I don't think it's the same as that. I mean, I _don__'__t_ like you the same way I liked them. It's different. Whenever I had the hots for someone, it was just like, I'd see a cute girl, and I'd get all nervous and turned on and stuff. And with you...well, at first, I just was...I don't know..._drawn_ to you. If that makes sense. Like, I didn't know then that I wanted to get all gay with you, I just knew that I didn't really have any friends, and I spent all my time with you, and even though we argued all the time, I still felt closer to you than anyone else. And I loved you. Because we're family...and then, later...I started getting turned on when I was around you. And I started dreaming about you, and...other stuff." He flushed with embarrassment, closing his eyes and grinning bashfully.

He continued, "I guess it all just sort of fell into place. I knew that I loved you, and I knew you knew me better than anybody, and...it just happened, you know?" Looking at Malcolm, his eyes lit up with understanding. "But I do know for sure that I started thinking that way before...before Francis."

Malcolm stared at Reese in amazement and adoration. In its own awkward, rambling way, that was probably the most eloquent and deeply felt speech Reese had ever given. It was one of many moments in the past year that made him ashamed that he had ever dismissed his brother as a dope.

"Wow..." he muttered, reaching up and stroking Reese's face.

Reese snorted, batting his hand away with a playful grin. "What do I keep saying, dude? Don't get girly on me now."

Malcolm laughed. "Oh, shut up..."

"So, what about you?"

"When did I start having feelings for you?"

Reese nodded, looking slightly anxious now. "Yeah, tell me."

Malcolm thought about it for a moment. "Hard to say. I've always had fraternal sentiments, but...uh..." he paused, noting Reese's confusion. "Brotherly love," he clarified. "Like you said, even though we argue and fight, we're family. So there was always that."

He rolled over on his back, looking at the ceiling tile and counting the spots. "That first time we kissed," he continued softly, "I felt like I was finally allowing myself to act out on feelings I'd never had the courage to address before. Even to myself. I remember secretly watching you sometimes when you changed clothes to get a look at your body, even when we were younger. At the time, I just told myself I was jealous, and I was only looking at you because I wanted to _be_like you." He peeked over at Reese, who was listening silently, enraptured. "I never consciously acknowledged any sort of attraction, right up until that first kiss. But in that moment, I knew this was something I've wanted for a long time. Probably even before my body was aware of it. You were my first crush, whether I admitted it or not."

Reese smirked. "So you turned gay first?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Sure, if that's the way you want to put it."

"I don't have some way to put it," Reese replied smugly. "That's the way it is." Malcolm flicked him and he chuckled under his breath. Then, more seriously, "Thanks, Malcolm."

"For what?"

"For answering the question seriously."

Malcolm patted his knee. "You're welcome. Douchebag."

Reese flicked him back. "Butt-munch."

"Asshole."

"Cunt."

"...no fair, you always go straight for the big guns."

"That's how you win, loser."

Unexpectedly, they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Finished with his movie, Dewey entered the room suddenly, and Malcolm and Reese shut their eyes, pretending to be asleep. Standing in the doorway, he stared in surprise at his brothers lying together. After some hesitation, he quietly closed the door behind him, trying not to make it creak, and tip-toed over to his and Malcolm's bed. And though his eyes were closed, he stayed awake for over an hour, a weird feeling gnawing in the back of his brain as he tried to convince himself there was nothing weird about what he had just seen.

* * *

><p>The rest of the month was relatively uneventful, though progressing with less tension than before: Lois started to relax a little after having a private talk with Reese on a trip to the grocery store (which she dragged him along to for that very purpose). Malcolm wasn't sure how much he opened up to her, but regardless, she seemed somewhat satisfied with what she learned, and gave the boys a little more space, choosing instead to spend her free time around the house working a little extra on each evening's meal during the afternoon. They all got the sense she particularly enjoyed chopping up the salad, probably fantasizing about doing unspeakable things to the man who hurt her son. Hal had finally moved on from his weepy phase, and was now in Dad-who-forces-quality-time-on-his-boys mode. And not just with Reese. They started going to the bowling alley regularly, which was a hassle at first, but after some practice, started being fun. Even Hal seemed surprised at the success of his mandatory bonding time.<p>

Relationships between the boys themselves were getting back to normal, as much as they could considering everything. Dewey and Reese had returned to their affectionate sibling rivalry, though there was a lingering unspoken awkwardness; the two of them had never had a chance to talk through Reese's feelings, and it seemed unlikely that they ever would.

Malcolm and Reese, too, had restarted their bickering, but in the face of their newfound relationship, it lacked the heat it once had, coming across playfully than anything else.

Their parents noticed this, but regarded it more with relief than suspicion. Malcolm hoped they would continue to attribute his and Reese's friendliness to maturity or to sensitivity on Malcolm's part in light of the abuse.

"The situation."

"Reese's situation."

That was what how they referred to it, if it was even brought up at all. Devoted as they were to being there for Reese in his time of need, the family couldn't quite come to terms with the reality of it all. Like most of their issues, they buried it deep inside and dealt with it indirectly. A poor coping mechanism, but the most effective one at their disposal.

Malcolm and Reese barely talked about it themselves. Reese said whatever he needed to in therapy, and spent his time with his brother moving on from that part of his life.

In fact, Malcolm didn't talk about it with anyone until one Saturday afternoon he caught his mother smoking a cigarette in the backyard while Reese and Dewey were at the movies with Hal.

"You shouldn't do that," he said in what he hoped was a teasing tone.

"You should mind your own damn business," she replied without missing a beat, but shot him rueful smile after a second. She jerked her head, motioning him over. "Come here."

He joined her, leaning against a post while she put out the cigarette. "So how're things going with you, other than..." he gestured at the butt on the ground, "...this?" She peered at him with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped smile. Malcolm could see the wheels turning in her head. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Uh...Mom?"

She took a breath. "You know, Malcolm...I never told you how proud I was of you for how you handled the situation with your brother." She turned her head, blowing out the last puff of smoke, and looked back at him. "I know that wasn't easy for you, having to tell us by yourself...and I can only imagine what it must have been like when..." She took another deep, shuddering breath. "...when you first found out."

Malcolm nodded slowly. "Thanks."

"I mean it," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, still looking into his eyes intently, biting her lip and blinking rapidly. "That took a lot of maturity, and you did good. And I want you to know that I love you, and I'm proud of you. Reese...Reese is lucky to have a brother like you." She removed her hand, turning her face away.

Malcolm felt a lump rising in his throat. He reached out, hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her from behind. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, but ignored it. "He's lucky to have a mother like you, too," he said quietly.

Lois stiffened, but allowed him to hug her and took his hands in hers, giving them a grateful squeeze.

The sun disappeared behind a patch of clouds, casting a shadow over the yard, and they shivered in the sudden coolness of the air. After a few minutes, Lois spoke, clearly, but rigidly.

"I've tried to make a good life for you boys. I know don't always make the right choices, but I don't regret much, and I'd much rather be the overbearing mother you sometimes hate than the neglectful mother who doesn't keep you safe." Her hands shook slightly. "These past several weeks have been...they've changed something inside of me. I feel like I've lost something, and I don't know if I can ever get it back."

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked gently, his cheek pressed against her back, as he hugged her.

"I've prepared for every possible scenario. Raising you boys, I haven't had much of a choice," Lois laughed bitterly. "Back when it was just Reese and Francis, I even read a few of those parenting books. It was a load of crap, but at least I learned how _not_ to raise you pretty early on." She paused, watching rays of sunlight poke through the clouds above them. "Every now and then, I've hated my job. Being a mother, that is. There are times when I feel dead certain one of you idiots is going to kill yourself doing something stupid."

Malcolm listened wordlessly, holding her all the while as she patted his hands.

"But I was ready for that. If it comes. I've always told myself I've been doing my part to keep you from ruining your own lives, and that anything you do to screw things up for your future is on you...but this is...not the same. I suppose it's every normal parent's worst nightmare; one of the things they fear most. But I just never...I don't know...I didn't see this coming." Her chest rose and fell with another heavy breath. "I couldn't protect my child from the one thing that I thought I never had to worry about. Everything I've done for you kids...it feels worthless."

She pulled out of his grasp, turning around to face him, her barriers finally starting to crack as her eyes teared up.

"And I know that's not true. I know it hasn't all been in vain, and things still matter, and that we can get past this. But I still feel like I failed in the worst possible way. And I'm not sure when I'll be able to forgive myself for letting this happen."

Malcolm felt frozen, watching his mother cry. This was Lois. The most powerful woman in his life. The strongest woman in the world, as far as he was concerned. And she was coming apart at the seams right in front of him. It was deeply unnerving.

He gripped her shoulders shook her firmly, forcing her to look at him.

"None of this was your fault," he said, emphasizing every word. "There was nothing you could have possibly done to prevent this from happening." _More __than __you __will __ever __know..._

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "He's my baby," she whispered in a voice that made Malcolm's heart break. "He was hurting and he didn't feel safe talking to me."

"No," Malcolm said firmly, gritting his teeth to maintain his composure and keep from bawling. "He was in shock, and he just wanted to be alone. And he didn't tell you himself because...well, that's just who he is. You know that. He's...he's like you." Through her tears, Lois looked at him in surprise. "He wants to be invincible. He puts on a tough front all the time, so no one sees what's going on underneath. It wasn't that he didn't trust you...he just didn't trust himself to stay intact if he let himself be that vulnerable."

She stared at him for a moment after he finished, then pulled him into another hug, one so tight he could barely breathe.

"I love you, Malcolm," she whispered into his ear. "You're a good boy."

The words had never sounded so sincere.

* * *

><p>Things were good for a while. Maybe even better than they had ever been, in some ways. Setting aside the new depths of respect he had reached with his mother, there were subtle differences in other family dynamics so palpable, Malcolm could sense them every time he entered the house. Reese and Hal took a camping trip, just the two of them, and when they got back, everyone could tell that something between them had changed. Reese hardly ever put up a fuss anymore when Hal asked him to do chores, and Hal, lax as he already was in enforcing the rules of the house, seemed more inclined to politely request, rather than command, when he wanted something to be done. The changes were small, but visible.<p>

No one ever asked, though. And they never told. Much in the same way that Malcolm and Lois kept their conversation to themselves. It was their own private exchange, not meant for anyone else's ears. Even between the two of them, that afternoon stayed tucked away in the back of their brains, not forgotten, but acknowledged quietly as a stepping stone towards what was hopefully a better future.

And things continued in that way for some time. The pain was still there, but it was getting better. The family was growing stronger in the face of its harshest trial.

So Malcolm, ever the cynic, was not particularly surprised when he received the letter from Francis:

_We should talk. I'll be in town next weekend._

_Don't tell the family I'm coming._

_Call me at the Red Roof Inn on Friday at 7pm._

_-Francis_

_P.S. Burn after reading._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: End of Chapter 4. I can't believe I've written this much in less than a week. Not sure if I should feel proud of myself for accomplishing something, or embarrassed that I apparently have no life. I'll probably settle somewhere in between. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you are enjoying it! More to come.<strong>


	5. Bigger Decisions

Family got under your skin.

That was something Malcolm had figured out early on. No matter how angry Lois got with the boys, or how disappointed Hal became, or whatever, the family always stuck together. Even through the worst of it.

It was the reason the boys had gotten so many second chances growing up. And it was the reason Lois never abandoned Grandma Ida, no matter how horrible and cruel she decided to be.

You stuck with family. That was the golden rule. You learned to accept the best and worst in your relatives and dealt with it however you could. But you never gave up. Not for good, anyway.

So when Malcolm was confronted with the deeply difficult decision of whether or not to allow his eldest brother the opportunity to apologize (or explain himself, or whatever it was he wanted), and tried to convince himself that he owed Francis no such thing, he found his resolve crumbling a great deal faster than he had hoped for.

It most likely due to the fact that back when he'd first been blindsided by Reese's revelation, he'd been forced to handle the situation spur-of-the-moment, and was more concerned with keeping Reese safe than with working through his feelings on the matter with Francis. But now that a full month had passed, and family relations were at an all-time high, he couldn't help but admit to himself that he _wanted_, if not to give his brother a second chance, then to at least hear him out. To sit down with him and maybe, finally have a shot at understanding how things had spun so disastrously out of control under all of their noses.

If only Francis hadn't been his childhood idol. That would have made things so much easier.

So he did call, as requested, keeping the conversation brief.

Francis picked up after the first ring. _"__Hello? __Malcolm?__"_

A brief pause. "Yeah. It's me."

"_Okay, good. Great...umm...it's good...I'm glad to hear from-"_

Malcolm cut him off. "Tell me your room number, before I change my mind."

"_Yeah, yeah, of course...umm, let's see...it's 237. But I'll come downstairs first. When are you coming by?"_

"Tomorrow morning after breakfast. Around nine or so." And then he hung up.

He made up some excuse about having to study at Stevie's and slipped away after wolfing down a couple of waffles and pulling on a sweatshirt. It took him about twenty minutes to get to the hotel; Francis was waiting for him in the lobby, sitting in a red cushioned chair near the door. He stood up abruptly when Malcolm entered, looking relieved and nervous. Malcolm approached him stiffly.

"H-hey..." Francis said, hands stuffed in his pockets.

All of the anger and tension Malcolm had felt broiling inside him on the walk over melted away into plain tiredness. "Hey," he replied, not quite meeting his brother's gaze. They stood awkwardly in the doorway.

After a long pause, they headed down the hallway together.

Standing in the elevator, Malcolm stole a glance at Francis, giving him a once-over. He didn't look too well off. His beard looked untrimmed, his jacket was tattered and torn in several places, and the dark circles under his eyes indicated a serious lack of sleep. He even looked a little thinner, somewhat unhealthy.

The room was plain, but clean. It smelled as though housekeeping had been by recently. Single bed, an armchair with a lamp, a television, and a small bathroom.

Malcolm sat on the bed and Francis pulled up the chair.

"So..." Francis started hesitantly.

"So..." Malcolm agreed. He scratched his hair, staring at a spot on the carpet.

"Mom called me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, a couple weeks back. She told me about...what you told her."

Malcolm nodded. "I said I'd leave you out of it, didn't I?" Francis turned away, ashamed. Malcolm took a deep breath and looked up to face Francis head on. "Let's get right to it, then. What do you want to talk about?"

Francis looked miserable. "Malcolm, I know there's nothing..." he coughed nervously. "There's nothing I can do or say to deserve your forgiveness-"

"I'm not the one whose forgiveness you need," Malcolm interjected sharply. He sighed. "Sorry...go ahead."

"No, you're right. I don't deserve his forgiveness either." Francis bit his lip, looking away with tears in his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his nose. "You have to understand...I was, I _am_ in a really dark place. I have been for a very long time. I've...been having trouble with alcohol. But I bet you already figured that part out. You _are_ the smart one..." Malcolm listened quietly, feeling pity for his brother, then anger at himself for feeling pity, then weariness with the whole damn situation. But he stayed silent, keeping a focused gaze.

Francis shuddered. "I was feeling a lot of confusing things. About Piama, and about my job. And Mom. I was starting to wonder if I was really as bad as she always told me I was. I was thinking that maybe she was right, and I'd gone and thrown my life away by rushing into marriage and not finishing school, and I just...I lost it. I started drinking, every day. Almost all day. It got to the point where I was almost never sober. And Piama stuck through it all. She stayed with me when I came home late and threw up in bed, and when I got into bar-fights, and...and even when I hit her..."

Malcolm closed his eyes. "Jesus, man..."

"It was just the one time; a couple of days after...after you told me you never wanted to see me again. It didn't even leave a bruise or anything...but I remembered doing it the next day, and I just broke down crying and begged for her to forgive me. And she did. She helped me get into rehab, and well...she stayed with me, is my point." He hesitated. "I'm sober now. I haven't worked through all of my issues, but I'm not drinking anymore...I did...some really bad things before I got better, Malcolm. Not just what...what I did to Reese, although that was the worst of it. I got involved in a lot of shit. More than I can atone for."

He finally looked Malcolm in the eye, tears flowing freely now. "I know things can't go back to the way they were. And...I know I keep repeating this, but I mean it: I know I don't deserve anything from you. Or from Reese. But I want to try. Not to fix it, because I can't. And even if I could, I would probably just make things worse. But I want to try to be your brother again. And I need for you to know that I would never, ever have hurt him like that if I hadn't been under the influence of my own demons. That doesn't make it more acceptable, but still...I just don't want you to think I'm some kind of heartless monster..."

Malcolm wasn't sure what to feel. He watched Francis cry with a mixture of revulsion and sadness. He squeezed his fists tightly. "I don't," he whispered through clenched teeth. "I know you're not a monster."

They sat unspeaking in the dimly lit room for a while, until Francis finally stopped crying and wiped his eyes dry. "So..." he said timidly, "...what now?"

"Now..." Malcolm trailed off. He wasn't quite ready to forgive his brother, but he didn't want to lose him forever either. He didn't know exactly what he wanted. But, thankfully, what he wanted didn't particularly matter in this circumstance. "...Now, I need to talk to Reese," he said finally.

Francis looked up in surprise. "What?"

Malcolm shrugged. "It really isn't up to me. The three of us are the only ones who know about your involvement, and he's the one you did this to. So it's his call." He paused. "As for me, I'm not ready to let this go...but I still love you. Your my brother and I know you need this family."

Francis sighed in relief, hope materializing in his eyes. "Thank you, Malcolm. I promise you won't regret-"

"My ground rules remain the same, though," Malcolm added. "If Reese says it's okay, we can re-talk the schedule I made for you, but I still don't want you alone with him or Dewey for a while. Not until we can get past this."

Francis bobbed his head vigorously. "Yes, yes. Of course. Totally fair." He frowned slightly, thinking of something. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't say I couldn't be alone with you."

Malcolm nodded. "That's because I know you wouldn't dare try anything with me, drunk or otherwise," he said icily.

Francis paled slightly, and dropped his gaze.

Malcolm stood, watching Francis unblinkingly. "Are you staying around for a while, or are you headed back home?"

"Home tomorrow night," Francis said in a small voice. "I told Piama I was visiting a friend for the weekend."

"Alright, I'll try to call you before you leave, to let you know what Reese decides."

Francis nodded. He called out as Malcolm was exiting through the door. "Hey...thanks for hearing me out...I love you, buddy."

"...yeah."

And then he was gone.

As the elevator doors clicked shut, Malcolm felt an sudden rush of doubt prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He wanted to believe that everything Francis had told him was true. But he'd never been good at telling when his eldest sibling was lying; Lois was the one with a knack for that, not him. Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Was he making the right choice? Was this just another one of Francis's desperate attempts to appeal to his family's seemingly endless reservoir of second chances? Or had he truly repented?

The elevator opened, but Malcolm waited a few seconds before exiting.

_God damn it, Francis...don't make me regret this._

* * *

><p>Malcolm tried to enjoy the rest of the day. It was unusually hot, and Lois was in a good mood, so she took the boys to the pool while Hal went shopping for dinner supplies. Dewey and Reese amused themselves by convincing a couple of 12-year-old girls that there was a shark in the deep end, while Malcolm sat in a lawn chair watching them swim and pretending to listen to Lois telling him about something Craig had done to the soup can display at Lucky Aide.<p>

She snapped her fingers in his face, startling him. "Huh? What?"

"Malcolm, are you paying attention to me?"

He rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Yeah, yeah. The mess was everywhere, it took you three hours to clean it up, and you lost some crackers. Got it."

"Okay, you were drooling, so I wasn't sure if you'd turned your brain off or not."

_I was drooling because I was watching Reese swimming. Which I think I'll keep to myself, if you don't mind._

"Sorry, Mom. Just tired."

Returning home, they were greeted in the driveway by a beaming Hal, waving a pack of steaks at Reese. "Tonight we dine like champions!" he yelled, miming what looked like it was supposed to be a victory dance.

Lois honked the horn. "Get out of the driveway, Hal!" she yelled back, with a loving smile.

Since it was the weekend and he had finished his homework, Malcolm was somehow roped by his father into helping Reese prepare the steaks. ("I'm just saying it would be nice to have two people in the family who know how to concoct a decent meal," he whispered conspiratorially, glancing at Lois over his shoulder.) He didn't really mind, since it gave him a chance to be close to his brother.

"So how was your day?"

Reese shrugged, shaking a bottle of spice or flavoring or something over the meat. "Pretty good. Dewey can hold his breath underwater for a minute and half now."

"Really? Huh. They grow up so fast don't they?"

Reese snorted, elbowing him. "What about you, sweetheart?" He'd been trying out various terms of endearment recently; always sarcastically, but Malcolm had a sneaking suspicion that he actually liked using them.

"Well, darling," Malcolm replied in an exaggeratedly saccharine tone, "We basically had the same day."

"Hey, you asked me first, asshole."

"This is true."

"Anyway, I was asking about your morning. Where'd you go after breakfast?"

Malcolm sensed something in the tone of his voice and, looking at Reese's face, saw an hint of anxiety. He bit his lip. "Francis called." Reese looked away, nodding quietly. "I went to go talk with him...I promise I was going to tell you later, when we were alone. I didn't want to upset you."

"No, I know. It's okay," Reese sighed. "I kind of guessed that's what was going on."

Malcolm frowned. "How?"

"You were staring at me a lot today. And you weren't making the face you make when you get turned on. You looked like someone had run over your dog. If we had a dog, I mean. So I just assumed it was something like that since you were gone for a while."

Malcolm grinned in spite of himself. "You've memorized my different faces?" he asked, amused.

"Not all of them, but I'm working on it," Reese replied, grinning as well. Then, with a more serious expression, "You can tell me about it later. Let's just enjoy dinner while Mom and Dad are both in a good mood."

Malcolm nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>The steaks turned out fantastically, much to Hal's joy. Lois felt sick to her stomach, so he got to eat her helping as well. After one of their rare pleasant meals, the family all pitched in to clean up the kitchen, wiping off the table and washing the dishes. Lois went to bed early, and Hal suggested the rest of them go bowling. Malcolm and Reese made up an excuse to stay home, so he ended up going to the park with Dewey to throw firecrackers at geese instead.<p>

Alone at last, Malcolm lay on top of the table in the backyard watching Reese scrape off the grill.

"Alright," Reese said, clearing his throat nervously, "what'd he want?"

Malcolm gestured meaninglessly. "What you'd expect. A second chance." Reese said nothing. "He claims he's sober now."

Reese stopped scraping. "What do you think?" he whispered.

"Well...I mean, he wasn't drunk when I talked to him. I didn't smell any alcohol or-"

"No, no, that's not..." Reese put the brush down and walked over to the table. "Make room," he said, prodding Malcolm gently. Malcolm obliged and pulled him into a tight hug. Reese rested his head against his chest. "What I meant was, do you think we should give him another chance?" His voice sounded strained, and Malcolm was reminded for the umpteenth time that he would never get used to seeing his brother this.

"I'm really not sure," he said honestly. "I'm still angry with him for what he did to you. I don't know when or if I'll be able to move past that..."

"...but?" Reese asked.

Malcolm sighed. "But...he's our brother. And I still care about him. Believe me, I've tried not to, but that's just not something you can let go of easily. He's been such a huge part of our lives. And in spite of all the shit he's pulled, I don't think he's really been too much of a negative influence. Recent events excluded, of course."

"I'm afraid," Reese said, his voice muffled against Malcolm's t-shirt. "I sort of feel the same way as you, but... I don't think I can handle it if...if it happens again."

Malcolm tilted Reese's head up so they were looking into each other's eyes. "Reese, I promise you it will never happen again. I swear, I will not let that happen."

Reese closed his eyes, concentrating hard. When he opened them again, he looked determined. "Alright. I think we should let him visit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not now, or anytime too soon. But I don't think we should cut him off. I want to believe that he's better than this."

Malcolm pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Okay, I'll let him know."

They stared at each other, contemplating their decision. Reese shot a glance over Malcolm's shoulder at the house, surveying the windows. He looked back with a familiar, confident smirk. "You know..." he said, drawing a low moan from his brother as he placed a wet kiss against his neck, "Mom's asleep now."

"Uh-huh," Malcolm responded breathlessly, Reese's tongue making his toes curl in his shoes.

"And Dad and Dewey won't be home for least another hour..."

"Yep. Both true."

Reese pulled back, looking curiously shy. "I think...if you're ready, I mean..." He looked at Malcolm meaningfully.

Malcolm's throat felt dry. "Oh," he said in a high-pitched voice. Clearing his throat, "Seriously? You want to?"

Reese nodded, an excited gleam dancing in his eyes. "Yeah." His eyes darted between his brother and the house. "Wanna go inside now?"

Feeling warmth spreading through his body, Malcolm smiled and stood up, pulling Reese with him. They opened and shut the door quietly, and tip-toed to the bedroom. Reese cleared his magazines off the bed while Malcolm crammed a towel into the crack under the door to muffle the noise. They shut the blinds on the window and stripped down, putting their clothes in a pile by the closet. Together, they made their way to the bed and lay down, eyes still adjusting to the dark.

"Hold on," Reese whispered, reaching under the bed and pulling out a small tub of petroleum jelly. "Use this," he said wriggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"Reese!" Malcolm hissed in horror. "When the hell did you buy that?"

"Relax, I got it a while ago. For personal use, if you catch my drift."

"Shut up and turn around." Reese obeyed while Malcolm applied the jelly. "Ugh...it's fucking cold, dude."

"Don't be such a baby."

Malcolm reached out tentatively and ran his fingers over Reese's skin: down his back...over his stomach...across his chest. Reese shivered at the touch, whimpering quietly as Malcolm's groin pressed up against his backside.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Malcolm whispered huskily, his breath tickling his brother's ear.

Reese swallowed, turning his head to plant a quick kiss on Malcolm's cheek. "Yeah, go ahead.

Malcolm took a deep breath.

Then entered him.

Reese clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his moaning. Malcolm caressed him soothingly while he thrusted, chattering incessantly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it hurts, just stay with me, it's gonna be okay, just stay with me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Reese groaned. "Shut the fuck up..." His hips bucked and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. "Oh fucking shit...oh, God damn it..."

"Shh..." Malcolm panted. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

It was all pounding and pistoning and twisting and flailing, whispered shouting and moaning and primal sounds, sweaty limbs bucking and rubbing against each other and the sopping bedsheets, fists clenching and teeth biting and tongues running over moist patches of skin untouched by roaming fingertips ever-moving in the darkness, sloppy kisses between gasping breaths in the pheromone-heated air and interlocking joints and appendages, sliding and pressing and feeling the pounding mantra of each other's heartbeats beneath the rise and fall of muscle and tissue, grasping and slamming and sucking and fucking, and the hovering ghost of a touch sending them careening over the edge into white-hot oblivion.

They lay side by side, hand in hand, gulping sweet cool air into their lungs, utterly drained and spent.

_I just fucked my brother._

And there wasn't a shred of revulsion left in his being. Any doubts Malcolm had had in the beginning were long gone.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, he had managed a single coherent thought: Reese smelled like home. The words _brother_ and _family_ and _blood_ felt more like descriptions than warnings.

Finally breathing steadily, Reese turned to look at Malcolm. "We...should probably change the sheets."

"In a minute," he whispered back, grabbing ahold of Reese's hand and gripping it tightly. "Not just yet."

And they lay there in the quiet, at peace, and in that moment, everything was right with the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: End of Chapter 5. Hope you enjoyed it. More to come. Stay tuned, good readers!<strong>


	6. Secrets and Lies Unearthed

It wasn't that Dewey didn't understand; he understood it all quite perfectly. Once a family has already pumped out three children (all boys, at that) who, on a day-to-day basis, make it their mission in life to create as much chaos in their environment as possible, it's easy to see why the fourth child might receive less attention. The novelty of cuteness has an expiration date, and that time simply passed by before Dewey really got a chance to experience the same level of doting and affection that Hal and Lois foisted upon Francis, Malcolm, and Reese.

Again, he understood. But it still stung, now and again.

Nevertheless, he made the most of his lot in life. Indeed, if anyone were to ask - and no one ever did - he would proudly claim that he took full advantage of the unexpected perks of his situation.

While he wouldn't go so far as to claim he was a "good child," since the Wilkersons were generally seen, both by themselves and by outsiders, as a collective of pure destructive energy, but he was still young and cute enough (and, in comparison to his siblings, well-behaved enough) to fly under the radar with most of his mischievous activities.

Meaning, he was usually able to listen in on other people's private affairs without their knowledge. When he was younger, this particular skill was of little use to him, since he found Hal and Lois's grown-up talk and Reese and Malcolm's bickering profoundly boring. But times had changed, and the sweet nothings whispered behind bedroom doors held a sort of perverse fascination for him.

His first introduction to sex, not an atypical scenario for children, involved spying on his parents from within their closet. It was nothing too graphic, just a soft-spoken, loving conversation at the end of the day followed by a lot of kissing and a little bit of groping. Nothing that Dewey wasn't aware of, but still, seeing his parents engaged in even the mildest act of private intimacy was off-putting and strange. He much preferred keeping his parents' sexual behavior abstract, disliking the way it had been laid bare before his young eyes.

After that experience, Dewey turned the focus of his exploration towards his brothers, whom he viewed as much more relatable figures. He'd observed Francis's innumerable conquests, consisting mostly of airhead cheerleader bimbos and anti-conformist artsy types. Although Malcolm and Reese had always seen Francis in more exaggeratedly mythological terms, Dewey's perspective was more grounded in reality: he knew for a fact that regardless of the self-satisfied, free spirit exterior he maintained to frustrate authority figures, Francis was more likely to spend several hours on the phone with his current girlfriend than he was to make out with her in the mall parking lot. Reese was the sex-hound: deficient in intellectual conversation, but an expert at flirting (with a certain type, of course; not everyone was particularly interested). And even he valued emotional intimacy over physicality; the only problem was that most girls who would give him a second thought were only interested in flings.

Malcolm was trickier to pin down at first because Dewey had been so sure that he was destined to be the awkward dork forever: a loser who tried to seek romance by using strict logic to demonstrate his intellectual superiority. And in many ways, he was, at least to the untrained eye. But after a while, Dewey came to realize that Malcolm was more like Reese: as sex-obsessed as any normal teenage boy, and desperate for a real connection.

So the thought _had_ occurred to Dewey before, purely in jest, that his brothers were perfect for each other. It was his own private joke.

But then he started noticing the signs: shared glances, late-night whispered secrets, even discreet touches. And he thought, _Surely __not...there__'__s __no __way..._

But there was, and he knew it.

It even made sense. Once he got past the "holy-fucking-shit-they're_-brothers_" part of it, Dewey began to think he could be okay with the whole thing. But he wanted to know, _needed_ to know that it wasn't just screwing around. He wasn't sure he could handle living in the house if this blew up; which it most definitely would if Lois and Hal ever found out. He was sure of that.

So that's how he chose to open the conversation.

"You two should really be sneakier, you know."

Malcolm looked up from his homework and Reese lowered his sports magazine. They both frowned in confusion.

"Huh?" Malcolm said, quirking his eyebrows.

"Last week," Dewey clarified. "That night Dad and I went to the park. You remembered to change the sheets, but the room still smelled. You should have used Febreze or something."

Dewey treasured that moment, savoring the way his brothers' jaws dropped and the color drained out of their faces.

"Uh...umm...what..." Reese stammered.

"Wh-what do you...uh...huh?" Malcolm put his pencil down, breathing hard. He and Reese looked terrified.

Dewey rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm not going to tell or anything. That's my point actually; I won't _have_ to tell because you're not being very careful. If I could figure it out, Mom will definitely figure it out. Sooner or later." Malcolm opened his mouth and Dewey added, "Don't deny it, by the way. I can make this conversation much more awkward if I deem it necessary."

Malcolm clamped his jaw shut, breathing slowly returning to normal. Reese put his magazine down, looking defeated. "How'd you find out?" he asked frustratedly.

"Uh, other than the thing I just mentioned? You two are probably the least subtle people on the planet. I could list plenty of examples, but the worst one was probably a couple of days ago when you were wrestling in the living room." He crinkled his nose. "I know brothers do that, but no one makes noises like that..."

"Okay, okay, we get it," Malcolm said, pinching his nose. "So..." He looked at Dewey cautiously. "Are you cool with this? Or is this blackmail?"

Dewey stroked his chin, pretending to consider it. "Well, the thought _had_ crossed my mind, but I figured you're stressed out enough already." He sighed. "It's weird, okay. I'm not going to lie about that. It kind of freaks me out, but it's not really any of my business, so I'm not going to stick my nose in the middle of it."

Reese mumbled, "It's not _that_ weird. We can't get each other pregnant or anything."

Malcolm and Dewey stared at him.

Dewey covered his face. "Ugh, come on. I really don't want to think about you guys having sex..."

"It's perfectly natural, little brother. Minus the incest part."

"Reese, just shut up," Malcolm groaned.

They sat not looking at each other for a few minutes before Dewey spoke up again. "Does it ever bother you?"

Malcolm looked at him. "What, that we're related? Or that we're both boys?"

"The first one. I don't care that you're gay, or bi, or whatever you are." He thought for a second. "Yeah, I don't care. Besides, why would I make gay jokes when I've got a whole world of brother-fucking jokes to choose from? But anyway, yeah, I meant the first one."

Malcolm and Reese looked at each other, communicating silently with their eyes. Reese responded first.

"It doesn't bother me. We've never been normal in any other ways, so why should this be an exception?"

Dewey frowned. "I'm not sure it's really that simple..."

"Why not?" He looked at Malcolm. "Didn't you write that one report about social constructs and human sexuality, and how most of our conventions of morality are just reflections of our own fears and insecurities?" He broke into a grin at the expression on his brothers' faces. "I read the dictionary to prepare for that sentence."

Malcolm shrugged. "He's right. I won't deny it's unusual, and I have moments where I feel strange about it, but..." he looked down, blushing, "...I love him. And that's all that matters to me."

Reese scooted over on the bed to place his hand on Malcolm's shoulder.

Dewey looked between them. "You're serious," he said, surprised. "You guys are actually, like, in love with each other? It's not just a sex thing?"

They nodded.

"And if you try to break us up or tell Mom or Dad, I'll beat you until you piss blood, Dewey!" Reese snarled, shaking his finger threateningly. "You got that?"

Dewey shook his head disbelievingly. "Yeah. Got it."

Malcolm shot Reese an admonishing glare, then turned back to Dewey, looking apologetic.

"I know this isn't...I know it's weird and crazy, and you have a right to be freaked out. But trust me, we're much happier than we've been in a long time." He thought for a moment. "And we'll try to be more subtle about it. You're right about that part."

Dewey nodded, his mind spinning. "Yeah, good." He fidgeted, looking back and forth between them, his eyes drawn repeatedly to Reese's hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "We're still cool," he said reassuringly. "I'm not going to disown you or anything. Who knows? Maybe I'll be comfortable with it someday." He got up to leave, pausing at the door. "I still don't want to know more than I have to, so, you know, from now on, just tell me when you want the room to yourselves, okay?"

* * *

><p>By the time Malcolm and Reese had been dating (if, indeed, that was what it was that they were doing) for two months, life in the Wilkerson household was finally back to normal, as much as it could be. Reese was still required to go attend therapy, but only once a week, and Lois didn't insist on driving him every time; she had caught on to the fact that the best way for him to heal was to be given time and space. Hal had struck a fairly solid balance between his need to be an "involved parent," and acknowledging that teenage boys didn't want to spend every waking moment with their father. Neither he nor Lois had any real suspicions about Malcolm and Reese's decrease in bickering. Most likely, they were just grateful for the reprieve from yelling. For a kid who had recently discovered that his older brothers were fucking each other, Dewey was handling it all surprisingly well. Malcolm and Reese still got the occasional eye roll if they said or did anything too sappy, but Dewey kept to his word and didn't say a word.<p>

If anything, he went out of his way to be supportive: one day when Malcolm and Reese got into an argument that nearly led to blows, Dewey rented a movie and ordered pizza for them before conveniently getting himself and the parents out of the house for the evening.

Francis didn't take advantage of his new boundaries around Thanksgiving time. He called ahead under the pretense of warming Lois to the idea of spending two weeks with Piama, but Malcolm knew the message was really for him.

"Francis is coming for the holiday," he told Reese, who nodded nonchalantly.

"Okay."

"He'll be here for two weeks."

"Alright." Malcolm peered at him intently, trying to get a read on his emotions. Feeling his eyes boring into his skull, Reese looked up from his paper. "Is there a question in there?"

"Don't be like that. I just want to make sure you're ready for this."

Reese's eyes softened. "I know. Thanks. And yeah, I'm fine. Might as well get it all out of the way at once. So we can move on for good."

Francis's arrival wasn't nearly as unpleasant as Malcolm had anticipated. Everyone greeted each other with hugs and smiles (and a cold, robotic handshake between Lois and Piama), and Hal, eager to use his new camera, rounded everyone up for a family photo. To both Malcolm and Francis's surprise, Reese positioned himself next to his older brother, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

"Welcome home," he said softly.

And that had been it. There was no weepy apology or long, somber conversation about the matter; Reese simply chose to forgive Francis and enjoy the holiday with as little drama as their screwed-up family was capable of. Even though he knew he should be used to it after all they had been through recently, Malcolm couldn't help but feel surprised by the swell of pride in his chest upon witnessing Reese's act of maturity.

That first week leading into the break from school was pretty smooth sailing. Hal and Francis spent most afternoons chewing the fat out the backyard while Lois and Piama put their differences aside to collaborate on the Thanksgiving feast. "It shouldn't be too much work," Lois said cheerfully. "We just have to gather the ingredients, and we'll make Reese put in the real work." Reese and Dewey's workload evaporated while Malcolm's teacher's piled on the exams. So most nights, he was left in the bedroom, buckling down on Calculus or Political Science while his siblings played outside. But the family was still getting along better than it had in a long time, Grandma Ida had thankfully not made an appearance, and Francis was respecting Malcolm's rules and rebuilding his relationship with Reese at a slow pace. It was shaping up to be the most drama-free holiday in years, so Malcolm had no complaints.

Thanksgiving came quicker than anyone anticipated, and it went splendidly. The food was delicious, the tone of the house was amicable, and the dinner conversation somehow avoided descending into a screaming match. After a few drinks, Lois even shared a few laughs with Piama. It was so perfect, Malcolm actually felt relieved when Hal dropped the chocolate pecan pie and shattered the glass container; up until that point, the entire evening had felt like he was outside of his body observing someone else's life play out. It hadn't felt quite right.

"Oh, honey. Be careful, don't cut yourself," Lois said, getting up to help him. "Boys, don't get out of those chairs until this is cleaned up."

Feeling a sense of peace, Malcolm decided to help Piama wash the dishes while Hal and Francis played football with Reese and Dewey in the backyard and Lois drove to the store to pick up another tub of ice cream.

"How can they see out there?" she asked, peering out the window while pouring dish-soap into a pan. "It's completely dark!"

Malcolm shrugged, blowing a bubble off one of the plates. "Trust me it doesn't matter. They suck no matter what, so they actually prefer to play when it's dark out. It keeps them from embarrassing themselves as badly."

She snickered. "Really now? So should I take it that Francis's talk about being a big-shot at sports is just him blowing smoke?"

"Hey, you're married to him," he replied, grinning. "If you haven't figured out that he's a class-A embellisher by now, you were never going to."

Piama smiled at him, washing the pan under the sink. "So what about you?" she asked. "How're things going?"

"Well..." Malcolm answered, drying off a bowl, "...it feels really weird to say this, but...good. Really, really good. Better than ever. My classes aren't too stressful, I've been getting along with kids at school, and everything's good here, too. Not too much to complain about."

"That's great," she said, still smiling. "So, things have been good? It hasn't been too hard?"

Malcolm stopped drying. He looked up slowly, noticing that Piama's smile seemed somewhat forced. He felt his heart sink in his chest.

_I knew this was too good to last._

"What do you know?" he said in a monotone voice, staring into her eyes as though he could read her thoughts if he looked hard enough.

She dropped the fake smile and sighed, putting the pan down and leaning against the counter. "Just what I heard on the phone," she said. "Your mother telling Francis about what happened to Reese."

Malcolm swallowed. "Yeah."

She looked away. "Look, Malcolm, I know I'm sort of an outsider here, and it's not really any of my business...but I do care about you guys, and I want to be there for you when you are going through tough times."

He nodded understandingly. "I get that. But I wasn't lying. Things are actually really good right now. And not just for me. I really think Reese is in a better place now. It was tough for a long time, and he's probably not totally healed, but things are definitely looking up."

Piama wiped her eyes. "I'm really glad to hear that. I know you all are still getting to know me, but even with...certain tensions, I feel like I am, at least in some way, a part of this family. This has been difficult for me, too." She turned back to the dishes, picking up some silverware. "I wanted to come down to visit back when I first heard, but Francis said we should give Reese some space, and let the immediate family process everything before we got involved. I don't know if my being down here would have helped or not, but I still feel guilty."

Malcolm shook his head. "No, don't. He didn't really talk to any of us that much about it, anyway. He's been seeing a psychiatrist for that. Mom's idea, of course." He felt slightly more calm not, but there was still something nagging at the back of his brain. He hesitated, then asked, "But what about you?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Me? What do you mean?"

Malcolm felt his heart thumping in his chest.

_Relax. It doesn't prove anything yet. Just calm down._

"I mean, how's stuff between you and Francis?" he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

She frowned. "He and I are fine...why do you ask? Did he say something?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I was just wondering..." he paused, unsure of what to say.

Piama smiled encouragingly. "Hey, it's okay. Don't be afraid to ask."

_Alright, here goes._

"Well, I was wondering if Francis was having trouble...with alcohol?"

She looked puzzled for a few seconds, then it dawned on her. "Oh, I see." She looked relieved. "Francis told me he used to have a bit of a drinking problem."

"Used to?" Malcolm whispered, his blood running cold.

"Yeah, back before he and I met." She smiled sympathetically at him. "It's so sweet that you're worried about him, but trust me, he doesn't have that problem anymore. He's been sober since before we got married. Won't even have a sip, except on special occasions."

Malcolm forced a smile. "O-okay. Thanks, Piama."

"Of course."

They returned to washing and drying, and though he was vaguely aware of Piama talking to him about her job back home, Malcolm wasn't listening. His attention was focused on Francis through the kitchen window, laughing and playing with the family.

_The son of a bitch...that fucking son of a bitch..._

He had been lying all along. He'd never had a drinking problem. He'd never hit his wife. It was all bullshit, and Malcolm had bought the whole fucking thing. Malcolm had allowed this parasite back into their house, back into the home of his victim.

But even Reese had said Francis had been drunk. Both times.

_That doesn't mean it was the reason he raped him. Correlation does not prove causation._

But then...what did that mean? Why would Francis lie about the alcohol? Why would he lie about that, but not deny the abuse?

_So that he could outsmart you. He made himself sound especially pathetic so that you would find him more sympathetic._

So he'd lied. He hadn't been drunk. Which meant he'd raped his brother...

...

...because he wanted to.

Malcolm stared out the window coldly. If this was to be a chess match, then so be it. Chess he could play. The wheels in his mind began to spin as he concocted a plan of action...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: End of Chapter 6. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far (and to those of you who are reading, but don't feel like reviewing). It's cool with me if you don't feel like reviewing, but I AM writing this story to entertain you (because we all need a little escapism in our lives, don't you think?), and reviews help me know what you're thinking; what you like or don't like, or aren't sure about, etc. Anyway, hope you're enjoying, and I will update in the near future!<strong>


	7. Last Measures

It was all about composure: keeping face and never lower your guard, even for a second, lest you run the risk of your opponent seeing behind the mask and reading your strategy.

Under typical circumstances, Malcolm wasn't particularly good at this. At any given time of day, he could form elaborate schemes under pressure within seconds and react to movements of his opposition remarkably swiftly, but he lacked foresight. Maybe it was just part of being a teenager, but when it came to making plans, he was only able to see a few steps ahead. It was one of the reasons Lois was able to sense when he was lying.

But this was about his brother, and Malcolm was frightened by how easily he kept up a cheerful demeanor during the weekend, acting as though he was truly in the process of forgiving Francis while, at the same time, making absolutely certain that he was never left alone with Reese, even for a second. He had to watch every move Francis made, but without appearing to be watching. The trick was to act as though nothing was wrong while also keeping Reese safe until Francis left; he could map out the rest of his plan later. There was also the unfortunate wild card: he didn't know whether or not Piama had mentioned (or would mention) their Thanksgiving evening conversation to her husband. If Francis knew what she had told him, then he would also know that Malcolm knew he had lied. And then he would be on high alert, making it much more difficult for Malcolm to get the best of him. Every time they were in the same room together, Malcolm couldn't help but shoot discreet glances at his brother, wondering...

Beneath all of the tension, Malcolm was disgusted to discover that he found a perverse thrill in playing this game. It was an adrenaline rush; he was out of his element, and found the challenge titillating.

This all came to a head the Saturday before school started back. Maybe it was due to exhaustion from several days of maximum attention, or because he was beginning to think that Francis wouldn't dare try anything this soon after regaining his brothers' trust, but either way, Malcolm slipped up, and it cost him dearly.

It was late in the evening, around 10:30 or so. Francis and Piama were out with Hal, Dewey was spending the night at a friend's house, and Reese was at home watching a movie.

Malcolm had been dragged to Lucky Aide by Lois and was wandering around bored, looking disinterestedly at junk on the shelves. Craig spotted him and waddled over.

"Hey there, buddy!" he said with a big smile, and Malcolm returned it, forcing himself to groan internally.

"Hi, Craig. How was your holiday?"

"Oh, it was fantastic! Jellybean and I went out to this Thai restaurant; now i know what you're going to say, and I'll admit it's not exactly traditional, but we don't tend to..."

Malcolm nodded, throwing out noises of agreement every few seconds while he zoned out. Craig wasn't a bad guy, but...fuck, he could be annoying sometimes.

After a few minutes of shooting the shit, one of the clerks came over and told Craig there was someone on the phone for him. As Craig excused himself, Malcolm felt a sudden jolt of unease come over him.

It must have been luck or intuition, or something beyond rational explanation, because while nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary on the surface, alarm bells were clanging loudly in his head. Almost unconsciously, as though he were seeing his own actions played out by someone else, Malcolm followed Craig at a distance, his blood pumping in his ears. He hid behind the checkout counter, straining to hear the phone conversation.

"Hello?...Oh, hi! It's kind of a surprise to hear from you. How was your Thanksgiving?...Hmmm?...Oh, umm...yes they're still here, do you want me to get one of them for you?...Oh...okay...okay...well, I-...alright, if you say so...yeah...talk to you later then...uh huh, no problem. Goodbye." The receiver clicked and Craig made a puzzled sound.

He yelped in surprise when Malcolm abruptly stood up from behind the counter.

"Oh, Christ!...My God, Malcolm...you startled me!"

"That was Francis, wasn't it?" Malcolm asked softly.

"What? Yes...I mean, no. Uh, no..." Craig stammered, wheezing slightly as he wiped sweat off his forehead. "Christ, Malcolm..."

Malcolm walked around the counter and gripped Craig's shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Craig, this is very important. Please tell me the truth. That was Francis, wasn't it?" he repeated.

"I...it...yes. Yeah okay, it was. What's this about? Are you two playing some sort of game or something? Because I don't want to get in the middle of it! Your mother is already mad enough at me for forgetting to restock the-"

"It's nothing bad, Craig. We're not up to anything, I just need for you to tell me what he asked you."

"He...well, he told me not to say anything."

Malcolm tried to keep calm, putting on his best friendly expression. "Look, you're right, okay? He and I are in the middle of a game. More of a competition, really. And I wasn't lying, it's nothing bad. It's just a silly game. But I need for you to tell me what he said, or else I'll lose the game...come on, do me this favor. Please? We're friends, right?"

Craig hesitated, but his eyes lit up at the word "friends," and Malcolm knew he had him.

"Well...alright, I guess it's not that big of a deal. He just asked if you and your mother were still at the store and then said not to tell you he called."

Malcolm felt his heart pounding in his chest.

_Shit, shit, shit._

He smiled gratefully. "Thanks. Now listen, I have to run home now. Could you do me a favor and tell me Mom where I went when she comes up here to check out? Just say that I forgot to respond to an important email and need to get it done before 11, okay?"

Craig frowned. "How are you getting home without a car?" he called as Malcolm moved quickly towards the door.

"I'm just going to run. I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"No, no. Listen, I have a bike in the back of my car. The trunk is unlocked, just borrow it for now, and I'll swing by to pick it up later."

"Okay, thanks a lot."

* * *

><p>Malcolm's mind was racing as he rode home. His palms were sweaty, his breathing shallow.<p>

How could he have been so stupid...

It was so obvious. Francis could easily come up with any number of plausible excuses to slip away from Hal and Piama for an hour or two. All he would have to do was drug Reese without him knowing (which, unfortunately, would probably not be too difficult to accomplish), and no one would ever be the wiser. Even Malcolm would never have known.

"Why, why, _why_ are you doing this?" Malcolm whispered, pedaling as quickly as he could. "Francis, _why_ are you doing this?"

When he arrived at the house, the lights were off and there were no cars in the driveway. Malcolm felt a brief surge of hope beneath the overwhelming fear. Maybe he had beaten him home. Maybe Francis hadn't called Craig from the house.

He opened the fake stone by the potted plant and unlocked the door with the spare key, flicking on the lights.

"Reese!" he called out, his voice trembling. "Reese, are you home?"

Even with the lights on, the house felt eerie. Empty. Malcolm squinted into the darkness of the hallway ahead, making his way towards the bedroom.

He froze with his hand on the doorknob.

"Reese?" he whispered desperately.

He opened the door to find Reese sleeping on his bed. Alone. Fully clothed.

Malcolm sank to the floor, letting out a little hysterical laugh, anxiety evaporating. "Oh, thank God..." he muttered, feeling his heartbeat. "Thank you..."

He crawled over and climbed onto the bed to sit on the bed with Reese. He stroked his brother's hair lovingly. He breathed in relief. He had gotten there before Francis.

But that wasn't true.

And he knew it wasn't. He knew it as soon as he saw the clock and realized it was only 11:00. Reese would never go to sleep that early. Feeling the weight return to his chest, he slowly unbuttoned Reese's pants and pulled them down. He hesitated for a moment before reaching in with a gentle touch, probing delicately.

He felt his heart sink as he removed his hand. There was blood on his fingers.

Not a lot, but it was there.

"God damn it..." Malcolm whispered, swallowing back tears. "Fuck..."

He stood up and went back to the main area of the house, looking around the kitchen and living room; under the couch, behind pillows, in the refrigerator, in the cabinet.

He finally found it, under the chair cushion. The bottle of wine from Thanksgiving dinner, noticeably less empty than before.

It was perfect. And it didn't take a genius to plan it, just a fundamental understanding of Reese's personality. Francis hadn't even had to administer the sedative himself. Left alone in the house with nothing to do, Reese would always find the alcohol.

Malcolm poured out the rest of it in the sink and tossed the bottle in the garbage bin outside. He pulled out another bottle from the pantry and stuck it in the fridge. It was unlikely anyone would notice. Liquor bottles disappeared all the time around the holidays.

After grabbing a washcloth from the hall closet and running it under the sink, Malcolm returned to the bedroom. He took a deep breath. It was a risky plan, but he didn't see any other options. It was the only way to keep Reese safe. He applied the cloth tenderly, wiping away all the blood.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

When he was finished, he went back to the garbage and hid the washcloth inside an empty box of cereal, then returned to Reese and lay beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around him.

Malcolm lay awake for about twenty minutes or so before Reese opened his bleary eyes and looked around sleepily.

"Malcolm?..." he yawned. "Ugh...what time is it?"

"Almost 11:30," Malcolm responded softly, hugging him tightly.

"11:30, seriously? Jesus, why did you let me go to s-" he paused, looking confused. "I feel...why I am sore?"

_This is the hard part. Just barrel through it._

"Dude, don't you remember?" Malcolm fake-laughed. "I told you you had way too much."

Reese rubbed his eyes, groaning. "What are you talking about?"

"You seriously don't remember anything? I came back early from the store, and we drank some of the leftover wine, and...you know...is any of this sounding familiar?"

Reese turned his head, frowning. "We had sex?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Alright, that's it. You're going back to sleep. If you're really that drunk, Mom's definitely going to notice. Just go back to sleep, and I'll cover for you. We'll talk in the morning."

After a brief hesitation, Reese shrugged. "Okay," he mumbled, and rolled back over onto the pillow. Malcolm got up and tip-toed to the door. Reese called out softly, "Hey..."

Malcolm turned his head. "Yeah?"

Reese smiled. "I love you."

Those words shouldn't have felt like a knife in his heart. Malcolm forced himself to smile back. "I love you, too. Get some rest."

He stepped outside and closed the door, his blood running cold in his veins. He went over to the computer and sat down, pretending to type, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check.

Lois arrived home a few minutes later. She tossed him an exasperated look.

"You know you could have told me you'd forgotten about an assignment, or whatever it is you're working on. I would have drove you home for that."

"I know, Mom. Sorry. I didn't mind riding home myself, though."

She smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Craig will be by in the morning to get the bike."

And then she retired to her bedroom, leaving Malcolm alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Francis and Piama packed up the next morning and headed home after lunch. The family gathered outside to say their goodbyes.<p>

Malcolm hugged Piama. "I was serious about what I said the other day," she said with a grin. "Once you get your license you can come up to visit us one weekend."

He smiled at her. "Count on it."

Lois was in the middle of lecturing Francis on the best shortcuts to take on the drive back, and Hal was tearfully attempting to get everyone to round up for one more family photo.

"Just one more," he pleaded, with a humorously pathetic pout in his tone. "I promise it's the last one."

"Oh for God sakes, Hal. You've been taking pictures all week!" Lois snapped in the middle of her speech.

"Well, I'm just thinking we might not be getting everyone together for Christmas, so it could be a while before we're all together again..."

Lois sighed. "Alright. Boys! Get in formation, chop chop!"

The group pressed together while Hal set the timer on the camera. "Be sure to smile, boys!" he said cheerfully. "We're making memories here!"

Lois and Piama stood in the front with Dewey, and Francis stood between Malcolm and Reese in the back row. Francis wrapped his arms around their shoulders. He looked between them, smiling.

"It was great to see you guys."

Reese smiled back. "Definitely. It was really nice."

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah." He looked at Francis. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly.

"Get ready, everyone!" Hal yelled, running over to squat beside Dewey. "Smile, smile!"

The camera flashed, capturing the false moment. Preserving it forever. Any outsider who looked at the picture would see a happy family sharing a touching moment.

Malcolm would only ever see lies.

* * *

><p>He had to wait three weeks, which, in the long run, was pretty lucky, but every day felt like torture. The plan itself was simple, but sidestepping the countless possible dumb mistakes took patience and extreme caution.<p>

First, he had to make sure to wait for a day when Piama wouldn't be around. That was key; no need to cause more pain for everyone than was necessary. That part actually worked out perfectly: she had a trip scheduled to go visit her father in Alaska, leaving Francis alone for the weekend. So he ended up choosing Saturday. Francis would be out all day, which would give Malcolm plenty of time.

He felt fairly confident in his alibi as well. There was a museum near Francis's apartment featuring an exhibit on theoretical physics, so Lois was supportive of the idea.

"That sounds like fun!" she beamed. "I'm glad you're starting to take a real interest in your academic pursuits. And I know your father would love to take you, right Hal?"

"Sure, honey. Whatever you say," he mumbled from behind the newspaper.

It was perfect. Frighteningly simple.

They drove up Friday morning and were greeted with open arms and a wide smile. No one suspected a thing.

"Hey guys!" Francis said, pulling Hal into a bear hug. "It's great to see you again! And so soon, too. I didn't think we were going to get together until Easter."

Malcolm grinned, hugging his brother as well. "Well it's just for the weekend, and Dad and I will be at the exhibit all day tomorrow. But we've got tonight, and we don't technically have to leave until Sunday evening."

Hal shook his head. "Actually, son, your mother made me promise we be home by dinner time. She wants you rested for school on Monday."

Malcolm shrugged. "Okay, well we have tonight then. So let's make the most of it!"

Francis clapped him on the back. "I agree, little bro."

It was a great night. For a while there, Malcolm almost forgot the reason for his visit. He was so enraptured by the evening's illusion of togetherness and normalcy that he had to consciously remind himself that it wasn't real. That it was just a mockery of what brotherhood was supposed to look like.

But in spite of that, he found himself enjoying Francis's company, if only for a short time.

They sat on the apartment floor talking late into the night, long after Hal had dozed off on the futon in the corner.

"So how's school going?" Francis asked, taking a swig of cream soda. "Herkabe still an asshole?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Dude, you have no idea. He's unbearable. He's petty, and narcissistic, and arrogant, and cruel, and just plain fucking insane all around." He took a sip of soda as well. "...But that said, school itself isn't too bad, at least as far as the workload is concerned. We're in that dead period between Thanksgiving and Christmas break where the teachers just give up on hoping we'll learn something and tell us to study for finals."

"Sounds familiar. You know there's a solution, right?...don't fucking study. Just blow it off. You're a genius, aren't you? Don't you have, like, crazy memorization powers or something?"

Malcolm snorted. "No. I've still got to study the information. You've got to work your brain on a regular basis, or you lose what you've got."

Francis lay on his back with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right. I bet that's why I flunked my classes."

"That would probably be a safe bet."

They smiled at each other contently. Francis scratched his nose and coughed. "You know..." he said quietly. "...I'm glad we can do this. Talk like this. After...everything." Malcolm nodded, but didn't respond. "I'm really glad you gave me second chance. I know I didn't deserve it. I still don't."

Malcolm chugged the rest of his drink and shrugged. "You're family," he replied simply. "I couldn't give up on you."

Francis smiled sadly at him. "You could have. But you didn't. So thank you." Malcolm nodded again, and he looked deep into his brother's eyes, trying to see past them.

_Is there someone in there? Was there ever?_

Francis groaned, sitting up sleepily. "Well, I've got a busy day tomorrow, bud. I'm hitting the sack."

"Okay, sounds good."

Malcolm watched him go into the bathroom and shut the door. He lay down on the blow-up mattress set out for him and closed his eyes.

_How did it come to this?_

It all went exactly as he'd envisioned it, like clockwork. When he woke up in the morning, Francis was already out and about, and Hal was making breakfast. They got dressed for the day and prepared to head out to the museum.

Malcolm pretended to forget something and ran back inside while his dad waited in the car, and he wasted no time getting to work. He shut and bolted all the windows, closed the ventilation ducts, and opened the stove gas valve the exact right amount. It didn't even make a sound.

Simple, but perfect. A plan that didn't even require an IQ of 165, just a basic understanding Francis's personality.

Just the basic knowledge that, upon returning to an empty apartment after a long day, Francis would light up a cigarette to relieve his stress.

So all he had to do was wait. To take his time at the exhibit, feigning enthusiasm as he explained each display to his baffled father. To talk about life through lunch in the museum cafeteria and nod understandingly as Hal complained about his miserable job.

And at last, when the call finally came, and Hal's face changed from confusion to horror to sorrow, all Malcolm had to do was wear a mask of confusion and ask what was wrong while patting him on the back comfortingly.

But when his father told him that Francis was in the hospital with fourth degree burns hovering at the precipice of death, he had to settle for an expression of numb shock.

Because, even as a lie, he couldn't shed a tear.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that's Chapter 7. Several dark twists and turns that crawled out of some fucked up place in the back of my mind. I know this seems like it might be the end, but trust me, there's still more to come. Hope you're enjoying it.<strong>


	8. Sayonara

While human nature continues to surprise, most people don't remain in awe of their own reaches and limitations. After a certain point, you tend to feel as though you know yourself as well as you're ever going to, and everything you do from that point on is simply an attempt to improve or maintain the status quo. But every once in a while, for certain people in specific circumstances, choices arise that, once made, can shatter one's understanding of self and change the entire course of a life.

Only when faced with the abyss can you possibly claim, with any measure of certainty, to know the depths to which you will be willing to sink. Malcolm was beginning to understand that.

The full reality of the situation didn't truly sink in until he and Hal spoke to the doctor, who claimed he'd never seen anything quite like it in his professional career.

A large chunk of his left arm had been completely burned off, and the skin on his face was blackened and charred with eschar. The brunt of the blast had blown a hole in his chest cavity, ripping through the subcutaneous tissue and underlying bone. Even with the bandages and gauze, it was a gruesome sight to behold: flakes of rotted skin peeled back around his ankles, patches of blood pooling around his torso through the wrappings.

"What's...what are our options?" Hal whispered, staring through the glass pane, his face stoic, but with eyes tortured by grief.

The doctor scratched the back of his head, a hint of nausea peaking through behind his expression of genuine sympathy. "It's not entirely clear right now," he said gently, glancing at Malcolm who listened with stone-faced attentiveness. "With injuries this extensive and severe, it's probable that, if he does wake up, there will be lasting brain damage; the extent of which we cannot determine until he can be revived." He breathed heavily, and Malcolm felt a pang of empathy for him. This was the worst part of a doctor's job: telling a parent that his/her child won't make it. "I have to be honest and straightforward with you about this," he continued. "Francis is in a coma, and in my professional opinion, I would say it is unlikely he will ever come out of it."

Hal closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, God..." he muttered, voice cracking.

"We can keep him on life support if you choose, or we can...let him go peacefully." He glanced at a form on his clipboard. "Francis has designated power of attorney to you, so it's your call."

Hal looked up from his hands, his face wracked with sorrow. Malcolm felt his stomach turn.

"Is he-" Hal choked. Cleared his throat. "Is he in pain? Is he suffering?"

The doctor shook his head. "No. Even if he were awake right now, the injuries have destroyed most of his nerve receptors; he would feel numb. But he's unconscious, so his brain activity is minimal. He isn't aware of any of this." He hesitated. "Also...and I hate to have to say this, but there's a possibility that he could...pass away on his own. As I said, the damage is very extensive."

Hal sat down shakily in a nearby chair. "I need to wait for my wife to get here," he murmured. "I need to wait for _his_ wife to get here. I can't make any decision without their say. This is a family matter. It's not up to me alone."

The doctor nodded. "Of course, sir. Both Mrs. Wilkersons have been notified already. They were listed as emergency contacts as well. Your wife said she's on her way, and your daughter-in-law is trying to catch the earliest flight back possible."

"Thank you," Hal said numbly. The doctor put his mask and gloves back on and reentered the room to check on Francis. Malcolm sat down next to his father.

"Dad," he said tentatively, rubbing his back soothingly. "Dad, are you okay?"

Hal stared blankly at the wall in front of them. "We were just with him," he said dully. "Just last night, just several hours ago."

"I know."

"How did this happen? How could this have even happened? We didn't even use the stove today. I microwaved some bacon and that was it. And we had those protein bars. We didn't even use the stove. How could this..." he trailed off, looking lost.

"I know," Malcolm repeated. "I know."

Strangely, in that moment, he was thinking back to that day in middle school all those years ago. Back to Reese's white-toothed as he stood with blood on his face and knuckles, looking at Malcolm with that expression of pride and accomplishment. Back to the conversation that night between Lois and Hal that Malcolm had listened in on, when they discussed the possibility that their son was a sociopath.

And Malcolm couldn't help but appreciate the irony that it was _he_, not Reese, who was sitting here now, less than fifty feet away from their elder brother, whose death warrant he had personally signed. And all he could feel was anxiety, wondering what would happen if Francis were to, miraculously, wake up from this vegetative state. Would he be able to put the pieces together? Then what?

He saw no other options now. Francis had to die.

But the pain didn't have to spread. The rest of the family didn't have to share in his guilt. If he could live with the knowledge that he'd murdered his kin, there was no reason to force his father to make the final call. He was in it now, and he had to go all the way. It was only fair.

* * *

><p>The opportunity didn't arise until around three in the morning. Lois, Reese, and Dewey had arrived at the hospital around dinner time. Piama was still waiting for a flight. "How many times did I tell him not to smoke!" were Lois's first words, her eyes brimming with tears. Dewey looked as though he'd cried on the car ride over, and was just feeling numb like Hal now.<p>

To anyone passing by, Reese's expression would have interpreted as shock, but Malcolm recognized something else. Something deeper.

Something similar to...relief.

He looked guilty too, as though he felt deeply ashamed of his own naturally reaction, and Malcolm wanted nothing more than to run away to an empty room with him and kiss him until all of that tortured guilt and confusion was washed away. Or at least buried somewhere beyond the point of feeling. But he settled for a long hug instead.

And when he finally let go of his brother, he registered something else in his eyes. A brief flicker of doubt that was there for a moment, then replaced by somber weariness. It was so quick that Malcolm thought (or perhaps hoped) he'd imagined it.

They sat around like zombies for several hours, occasionally moving from chair to chair as though the inconsequential movement was somehow contributing to Francis's healing.

When the doctor finally returned around midnight to let them know that Francis was out of surgery and stable enough for visitors, they practically tripped over each other scrambling to his room. Lois broke down again at the sight, hugging his prostrate body and sobbing silently against his neck. Dewey couldn't handle it and went back to the waiting room after about five minutes. Reese went to go comfort him while Hal and Malcolm stood with their hands in their pockets, looking at the floor.

Lois looked upward with a mixture of fury and despair. "Why do you hate this family?" she growled, hands trembling with rage and helplessness. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Between midnight and 3:00 A.M., everyone took turns spending time alone with Francis, saying whatever they needed to say. Just in case. They all knew there was a strong chance that he wouldn't make it through the night. Malcolm watched from behind the glass as Dewey whispered to his big brother, patting his hand over and over. Hal and Lois were down the hall holding hands and whispering. Probably talking about whether or not to pull the plug. Reese was nowhere in sight; most likely in the bathroom or the cafeteria downstairs.

Finally Malcolm and Hal were left alone in the tiny room, exhausted from lack of sleep, watching the nurse change out Francis's bandages. The doctors had opened up a room on the next floor with cots for the family to get some rest while they waited for Piama to arrive in the morning.

Malcolm looked over at his father. "Get some sleep, Dad," he said softly. "I'll wait with him."

Hal nodded wearily, standing. "Okay, son."

The nurse joined him. "I'll show you the room, sir," she said kindly. Turning to Malcolm, she pointed at a button by the bed. "Just push that if you need someone, sweetie."

He nodded. Hal took a moment to squeeze his shoulder on the way out the door, then Malcolm was left alone in the room.

The hallway outside was dark. There was no one in sight. A melancholic mood overwhelmed the small, enclosed space.

After checking for about the tenth time that there were no security cameras in the room or the hallway outside, Malcolm grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser on the wall and put them on, glancing outside to make sure no one was around.

He turned to look at Francis, deeply sleeping, his entire face covered by gauze. Only his closed eyes were visible.

Malcolm sat beside the bed, heart pounding in his chest.

_This is it. This is the end._

He pressed a gloved finger against the power button on the heart monitor, shutting it off.

"I don't know what to say," he murmured to his brother's forlorn figure. "...you know, for the longest time, you were my favorite brother. You were the one I could count on if I needed to talk about something; you were the one I knew would care." He swallowed. "You were my hero."

He placed a hand on Francis's shoulder, rubbing his thumb against his charred skin affectionately.

"Even when I grew older and was able to see your flaws with greater clarity, I still admired your rebelliousness and willingness to do what you thought was right...even and especially when that required defying authority. You were the one who taught me courage; I learned things from you that Mom and Dad were never particularly adept at. And I'll always be grateful."

He stood slowly and leaned over the bed.

"I don't know if I believe in an afterlife or not," he whispered. "It's not something I've thought about all that much. But if there is, and that's where you end up, I want you to know that I'm doing this for our family. I'm giving them the gift of being able to remember you fondly. Even Reese; he really believed you'd changed." He bit his lip, angry tears springing suddenly to his eyes. "God damn it, Francis...why couldn't you change? Why did you do this?" He closed his eyes, taking shallow breaths, steadying himself.

"Anyway...that's my reasoning. That's what I'm thinking. I'm the one who has to suffer through this, knowing what I've done. And knowing what you really are." He leaned in closer. "Can't you see that? Can't you see I had no choice?"

He knew Francis couldn't hear him, but there was no one else around upon whom he could lay his guilt. It wasn't particularly satisfying.

Malcolm leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his brother's bandaged forehead.

"I don't understand. And I probably never will. But I still love you."

And he disconnected the air tube.

"Goodbye."

The minutes ticked by. He stood by the doorway, keeping a lookout (and not wanting to watch) as Francis slowly suffocated. When, at long last, he heard that last breath, Malcolm expected to break down. But he only felt relief.

Grief could wait.

He reinserted the air tube and turned the monitor back on, the green light momentarily blinding him as the screen clicked back on. No heartbeat. He pressed the button by the bedside and threw the latex gloves in the trash can, sitting back in the bedside chair.

After a minute or so, a nurse came rushing in, and took in the scene with a sigh of empathy. She stared at Malcolm for a minute and then gently squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said softly.

He nodded, not meeting her gaze. "I want to tell them," he replied. "My family, I mean."

"Of course..."

He watched expressionlessly as she pulled the bedsheet over his brother's body.

_That's it then. It's done._

* * *

><p>The funeral was surprisingly painless; everyone seemed to have had enough time to get through the uncontrollable weeping phase of the grieving process before the ceremony. Weirdly, it was perhaps the least disastrous Wilkerson family gathering ever. Even Grandma Ida had enough respect not to make any disparaging comments. Somehow, Francis's death brought Lois and Piama together on a level they had never quite reached during his life. ("You're staying with us," Lois told her firmly, grasping her hand in support. "You're family.")<p>

They had a few people over to the house after the burial. The Kenarbans and some of the more well-behaved relatives. Lois and Piama sat out in the backyard with a bottle of vodka talking and laughing quietly, reminiscing about their favorite memories of Francis, while Hal and Abe talked in low voices over by the fireplace. Dewey had gone to be alone in the bedroom as soon as they'd gotten home. Malcolm and Reese sat together on the couch watching uncomfortably as people they barely knew wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, picking at the fruit salad and chip-and-dip Lois had set out.

Reese nudged Malcolm. "Go for a walk?" he asked softly. Malcolm agreed and motioned that they were leaving to Hal, who nodded indifferently.

It was a sunny day, and surprisingly nice out for the time of year. They didn't even need jackets as they strolled down the streets, hands in their pockets, kicking pebbles and listening to the birds chirp.

"Good ceremony," Reese said after a couple of minutes. "No crazy outbursts or anything."

"Yeah." Malcolm squinted up at the sun. "Pretty rare for this family, huh?"

Reese snorted. "Most definitely." They walked in silence for a few minutes, leaving the house far behind. Arriving at the park, Reese pointed at a bench. "Sit?"

Malcolm nodded, gazing off at the other side of the lake where two boys were playing in the water.

They sat on the bench in the cool breeze, listening to the sounds around them and simply existing in each other's company. Reese let out an amused noise. Malcolm turned to look at him.

"What?"

Reese shrugged. "It's nothing, I just...I just don't know how to feel, really." He looked up at Malcolm with a sad smile. "I mean, things were just starting to feel better, you know? Not just between me and him, but with myself. I was starting to feel okay about myself again."

Malcolm put a comforting arm around him. "You still can," he said firmly. "This doesn't change anything about you. You can still heal. You can move on. This doesn't have to ruin your life, Reese."

Reese shook his head. "I know that. That's not what I was saying." He looked at the ground, frowning slightly. "It just feels weird. That's all I meant."

Nodding in agreement, Malcolm looked back at the boys on the other side of the lake. One of them was looking around in confusion, the other was nowhere in sight. "Yeah, it does."

After a beat, Reese added, "It's weird timing, too."

Catching the question in Reese's tone, alarm bells started ringing in Malcolm's head and he forced himself to keep a collected demeanor as he asked, "What do you mean?"

Reese gestured meaninglessly. "Nothing in particular. Just...it's strange is all."

He looked up, meeting Malcolm's gaze. They stared at each other, faces blank slates.

A minute or so later, Malcolm spoke quietly. "Is there a question in there?"

Reese shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered, looking away. "No question."

Looking back across the lake, Malcolm saw the missing boy had resurfaced and was laughing with his friend.

He removed his arm from around Reese's shoulder and grasped his hand. Reese gave it a gentle squeeze.

They sat on the bench until the sun went down and shrouded the world in darkness. Then they went home to return to the light.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that's Chapter 8. I think this is the shortest chapter, but for many reasons, it was the hardest to write. Anyway, I think there will be one more full length chapter and then an epilogue, and then this story will be finished. Stay tuned for the last two parts, amigos!<strong>


	9. Bloody Sunday

They were present even in the fullness of daytime, when the curtains were drawn back and light blasted in from the windows while Dewey and Reese played board games on the living room table and Lois scoured the area for dirty laundry. And it wasn't just the haunted memories of crimes long past that permeated the house; Malcolm could sense ghosts of all sorts.

Reese holding him in the bathroom, the box-cutter discarded on the floor.

Malcolm holding Reese, in very much the same way, though for a very different reason.

Francis helping them teach Dewey how to walk.

Lois whispering, _"__You__'__re __a __good __boy__"_ as she hugged Malcolm in the backyard.

Hal's embarrassing sniffles of pride after Reese thanked him for cooking class.

Dewey's treasured Best of Mozart collection shaking the walls seconds after he returned from school.

Reese kissing him after making love.

Malcolm pouring out a bottle of wine in the sink...

Every room contained a memory, and sometimes, so many of them would come back at once that Malcolm felt as though his mind simply couldn't bear it all. Once he even lay in the bathtub, fully clothed, absently wondering where he could find something sharp; not a serious consideration in a moment of despair, but simply a feverish desire to pay homage to a time he wished he could reclaim. A time before it all got shot to hell.

He did, however, take comfort in the relief that, as far as he could tell, his attempts to alleviate the pain of his family by removing their complicity in the decision to end Francis's life had worked wonders for their self-esteem. Five months after his death, they still got the occasional pitying glance from a neighbor, but the gift baskets had stopped coming, and life had, if not necessarily returned to normal, settled into a steady rhythm once more. Piama had moved in with them shortly after the funeral after Lois's insistence, and somewhere in the months that followed, she became an irreplaceable element of their day-to-day lives. There was never even a conversation about whether or not she was going to stay; it was simply assumed. She was no longer an outsider.

The loss of Francis had affected her strangely. The two of them hadn't been married for very long, and Malcolm got the sense that she realized, on some level, that for all his good qualities, she had made a mistake by accepting Francis's proposal. But at the time of his death, their relationship had, by her own estimation, improved to the point where she was beginning to believe that it would all be worth it in the end. And, in a very different way, she had been right. Ultimately, she'd lost a husband, but gained a family that loved and cared about her in a way that her own never truly had.

Malcolm suspected that Hal still cried sometimes, but only in private. The whole experience had changed him on some fundamental level, and he made a point to spend more time with the sons he had left, which he could afford with the additional help of Piama's income. Lois was more stoic. She had done all of her crying in the first few weeks, and was able to think about her eldest son with a fond smile and faraway stare instead of collapsing in sorrow. Even Dewey was starting to seem like his old self again. Indeed, the whole family seemed to have grown, overcoming unbearable tragedy together.

* * *

><p>Malcolm had dreams sometimes.<p>

It was almost always the same one. He was walking alone through the city at night when he came across the ruins of an old church with an iron gate and a steeple, and a winding tower leading up to a rusty old bell. And he went inside to get out of the cold, only to discover that it wasn't a church at all, but the blackened, decimated apartment building he had blown up to protect his brother. His lover.

He was greeted by a grisly skeleton of a man: skin rotten and burned, hair frazzled and stiff, skull showing through the thin layer of tissue on the left side. Eyes judgmental.

And Malcolm would yell at the man and plead with him, talk to him and try and make him understand. But he never responded. He never said anything at all.

So Malcolm would simply wake up in a sweat, looking around in the darkness, and then try with little success to fall back asleep.

* * *

><p>Whatever tension there had been between Malcolm and Reese in the days following their brother's death had since dissipated. Reese had stopped going to therapy in April. He didn't seem inclined to talk about it, and no one was callous enough to pry. Even Malcolm gave him his space, knowing that if Reese ever wanted to share, he would be the one to whom he would open up.<p>

Their relationship had changed; matured. Gone were the days when their secret romance was constricted to a series of hot and heavy midnight rendezvous and soulful gazing across the breakfast table when no one else was watching. Both in theory and in practice, they had a real, adult arrangement going on. Malcolm helped Reese study for his exams and Reese helped Malcolm improve on his basketball skills. They split one another's paychecks, and started a savings fund instead of blowing their earnings on frivolous things. They were looking forward to the future and all that it might hold.

It wasn't until the beginning of summer, on a hot and sunny Sunday afternoon, that the ghosts of the past came back to haunt Malcolm in the worst possible way.

He was alone in the house, sitting in the living room and responding to an email from Stevie, when Reese came in.

"Hey," Malcolm said distractedly, not looking up. "Where have you been?"

Reese wiped sweat off his brow, breathing heavily. "Went for a run."

"Uh-huh."

Panting, Reese grabbed a carton of milk out of the refrigerator. "Stopped by the cemetery," he said after taking a swig.

Malcolm looked up. "Uh-huh."

"To see Francis," Reese added unnecessarily.

Malcolm stopped typing, giving his brother his full attention. "Yeah."

They looked at each other uncomfortably for a beat or two. Malcolm felt his blood run cold.

_This is it. It's caught up with you. It's finally here._

Reese suddenly looked more anxious than exhausted. His eyes were ridden with anxiety. Malcolm bit his lip. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

Reese opened his mouth, hesitated, then slowly said, "I just...I need to know. Okay? I need to hear you say it. That's all."

Malcolm shook his head slowly. "Hear me say...what? What are you talking about?"

Reese eyes darkened and he slammed the milk down on the counter. "Forget it," he said stiffly, heading down the hallway.

Leaping up from the computer, Malcolm followed him to their room and closed the door. "Reese?" he asked timidly.

"Don't" his brother said warningly, holding his hand up defensively. He sat down on his bed with a deep sigh.

Stupidly ignoring the warning signs, Malcolm kept at it. "Don't what?"

Reese jumped up, clenching his fists at his sides. "Just don't, Malcolm! Fuck!" He looked at the ground, fuming, his fingernails digging hard into his palms. "After everything, you're actually going to keep treating my like an idiot?"

A weird rush of unjustified annoyance intermingled with desperation pushed Malcolm over the edge. "Hey!" he growled angrily. "I am _not_ treating you like an idiot, and it's totally unfair of you to act all insane when I have no fucking clue what you're talking a-"

Reese grabbed the front of Malcolm's shirt and slammed him up against the wall. "Don't you fucking dare!" he snarled, spit flying from his mouth. Malcolm could see the vein in his neck pulsing dangerously, the muscles in his arms bulging. "Don't even pretend to be the victim here. We both know, okay. Do you get that? Do you understand? We both know the truth, and you won't fucking talk to me, and it's driving me crazy!"

Malcolm felt his resolve crumbling. "What do you want me to say?" he said, still heated, but his voice was beginning to crack. "Huh? Just tell me what's wrong and we can-"

With a hysterical little laugh rising up in from deep within his throat, Reese punched Malcolm in the jaw, knocking him down and leaving his lip bloody. "Do you not even respect me enough to fucking say it?" he yelled, his eyes on fire, sounding positively demented.

And suddenly Malcolm snapped. All of his deeply buried pain and frustration and sorrow and confusion and rage exploded, and he leapt up from the ground and pummeled Reese in the stomach.

Not expecting retaliation, Reese doubled over, clutching his abdomen and Malcolm punched him in the back of the head, sending him toppling to the floor. Malcolm straddled him, a wild moan he barely registered as his own escaping from his chest. He pounded his brother's face over and over, fists turning red as Reese's nose sprayed a geyser of blood.

With an animalistic growl, Reese grabbed Malcolm's fists and twisted their bodies around so he was on top. Reaching down and seizing Malcolm's shoulders Reese lifted him up and repeatedly bashed him against the hardwood floor.

"You don't even have to say why!" he screamed, clenching his teeth in pain as Malcolm's fingernails dug into his arms. "Just say it was you! I have to know, don't you understand that, you fucking-"

Malcolm kneed him in the groin and Reese yelped, falling sideways and contorting into the fetal position. Coughing noisily, Malcolm clambered to his feet and started kicking Reese furiously.

Reese grabbed his ankle and twisted, knocking Malcolm back to the ground.

They lay panting heavily for a few moments before jumping at each other again. They wrestled furiously; scratching and biting and punching and elbowing and kicking. And then Reese was back on top of Malcolm, fist raised high, looking down at him with blood dripping from his eye.

But his mindless rage was gone, replaced by an all-too familiar expression of heated excitement. And beneath his acknowledgment of that, Malcolm also found that, he too, was hard as a rock and his fury morphed into uncontrollable lust.

He reached up and grabbed the sides of Reese's face, pulling him down for a violent kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into his brother's mouth. Reese responded by biting down, drawing more crimson fluid from Malcolm's already bloody lip and eliciting a loud moan as he sucked it up greedily.

Malcolm curled his fingers into the hole he'd torn into the back of Reese's shirt and ripped it wide open, desperately running his hands over the smooth skin and groaning appreciatively as Reese licked blood off of his neck, nipping at a tender spot.

Somehow they were naked, bruised and battered, covered in sweat and blood and spotted with dirt, pressed up against the cold wooden floorboards.

His eyes wild with lust and pent-up frustration, Reese violently pulled Malcolm's legs apart and lifted them up and slammed into him hard without any preparation or warning.

Malcolm groaned and smacked the floor with the palm of his hand, shutting his eyes tight and shivering at the sudden wave of pain and pleasure that rocketed up through his body.

Muscles straining, eyes rolled back, blood pooling with sweat on the floor, animalistic cries accompanying every brutal thrust.

And then Malcolm was sobbing, the unrestrained grief he'd never allowed himself to feel for Francis finally breaking through his exterior of composure and confidence. His body shook violently, and he covered his face, tears flowing freely now.

Reese stopped immediately and, misunderstanding the origin of Malcolm's suffering, an expression of horror and self-loathing contorted his face and he withdrew quickly, scrambling away from his brother.

Malcolm heard Reese flee the room, but didn't get up right away. An overwhelming sense of peace unlike any he'd felt in a long time came over him. He lay weeping on the floor of the bedroom, basking in the wonderful release.

It was all going to be okay.

* * *

><p>He found Reese curled up in the garage, shivering and still naked. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his brother's shoulders. Reese shivered at the touch.<p>

"Malcolm, I-" he choked, looking completely miserable. "I-"

He cut off in shock when Malcolm slapped him across the face. Malcolm held a finger up to him. "You didn't," he said firmly. "Understand? I swear to you, that wasn't the reason I was crying. I wanted it just as much as you. You didn't do anything wrong." He placed a hand lovingly on the cheek he had just struck. "I promise you, I wanted it just as much as you." He pulled him into a hug. "You didn't do anything wrong," he repeated.

Reese leaned into the touch, still shaking, but thankfully not crying. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Malcolm spoke again.

"You were right," he whispered.

Reese pulled back to look him in the eye. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with shock.

"It was me," Malcolm admitted, looking at the floor.

He heard Reese's breathe in sharply, then felt a hand on the back of his neck, stroking him comfortingly. "You had no choice?" he heard Reese whisper. "No other way?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Not without destroying the rest of us, too."

Reese bobbed his head, his expression distant, processing this information. Arriving at some sort of internal decision, he turned back to Malcolm and nodded firmly. "Whatever you had to do."

The feeling of relief was indescribable.

"You mean it?" Malcolm responded weakly.

Reese kissed his forehead, then pressed his own against it.

"Yeah."

And they curled up together in the corner of the garage.

Malcolm felt his heart rate slowly return to normal. They were really perfect for each other now. They had to be; there was no going back now.

Feeling the slightest tinge of doubt, he turned his head to look into Reese's eyes.

_Those beautiful eyes._

"Are we going to be okay?" he whispered.

Reese's brow furrowed slightly as he thought about it, seriously considering the question. Then he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss against Malcolm's lips.

"Yeah. I think we're going to make it."

And Malcolm couldn't help but share his optimism as they lay there, hearts beating in sync as the sun began to set outside.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that's Chapter 9. I'm publishing the epilogue at the same time as this chapter, so go ahead and read that, too!<strong>


	10. Epilogue

**Several years later...**

Malcolm straightened his tie, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. College had treated him kindly; the awkward teenage years were long past.

Lois poked her head through the doorway, gesturing at her earrings. "What do you think?" she asked, turning from side to side so he could get a better look. "Too flashy for this kind of thing?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mom, it's Dewey's high school graduation, not his wedding. No one is going to care about your outfit."

She snapped her fingers with a soft frown. "Don't take that tone with me, mister." She popped back out of the frame. "I'm going help Piama with her dress," she called. "Reese is going to check on you in five minutes, so you'd better be ready to go by then! We're running late as it is."

"Okay," he yelled back, turning to the mirror and combing his hair one last time. He took a step back and examined his suit. Nodding in satisfaction, he glanced at the picture on the sink.

The picture Hal took on Thanksgiving all those years ago. Francis standing between Malcolm and Reese with his arms around them, a smile plastered on all of their faces.

He was between them still, though not as a barrier, as he once had been. He existed now as a shared secret, a private reminder of guilt and pain. That Reese was willing to share the burden was a blessing for which Malcolm would remain eternally grateful. It wasn't until he came clean that he'd fully recognized how hard it had been to carry the weight of that knowledge around by himself.

"Francis, I swear..." he murmured, touching the picture frame affectionately. The weight on his conscience had diminished over time, but it was still there. Malcolm didn't mind. It meant he was still human. Turning away he looked around the bathroom. So many memories in this place. His heart could barely take it.

He cocked his head at the sound of a knock. Reese stood leaning against the doorframe with an expectant grin. "You ready?" he asked.

Malcolm nodded. "Just about. You?"

"Yep. Mom's in the car. She said to tell you to move your ass."

Malcolm snorted. "Alright, I'm coming."

Reese examined him carefully, nodding in approval. He glanced around to make sure no one was around, then grabbed Malcolm's tie, pulling him closer. "I love you so much," he whispered.

Malcolm placed a hand on his chest, and leaned up to kiss him softly. "I love you, too."

They had made it. They had survived. The scars of the past were ever present, but together, they could endure it all.

Reese jerked his head, gesturing to the door. "Shall we?"

Malcolm grabbed his hand. "Let's."

Reese squeezed his hand and then released it, and together they plunged into an uncertain future.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there you have it. That's the end of the story.<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There won't be a sequel to this particular fanfic because I feel like I've done everything I wanted to with it. Which is not to say that I'll never write another Malcolm/Reese story. (They are one of my favorite pairings, and unfortunately, there aren't a lot of fics out there about them. So I might have to help rectify that. We shall see...)**

**Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed/will review, and more importantly, to everyone who read/will read. It's been great! **


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